


liminal spaces

by theprimrosepath



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Adorable Jester Lavorre, Background Relationships, Caleb Widogast Has Issues, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Jester Lavorre & Caleb Widogast Friendship, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Mighty Nein Members, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Pining, Self-Esteem Issues, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-02-23 09:04:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprimrosepath/pseuds/theprimrosepath
Summary: In dreams, in passing moments, as flights of fancy... Sometimes, Caleb Widogast and Jester Lavorre are in love with each other.A series of oneshots inspired by the Widojest Hiatus Prompts. First chapter is a table of contents with more specific tags.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 171
Kudos: 260





	1. table of contents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the widojest hiatus prompts are posted on tumblr and can be found [here](https://funnygirlthatbelle.tumblr.com/tagged/widojest-hiatus-prompts)!

_**Table of Contents:** _

2: [in the kitchen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275645/chapters/55741060) — POV Marion Lavorre, near future, pre-relationship, angst and feels, gifts, surprises, parent-child relationships, Caleb & Marion, implied Beau/Jester and Fjord/Jester. Marion Lavorre encounters Caleb Widogast waiting for pastries at the bar downstairs.

3: [sending/message](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275645/chapters/55801951) — POV Jester Lavorre, C2E62, not canon, pre-relationship, fluff, surprises, painting, Jester & Fjord, background Fjord & Caduceus. Jester has prepared a couple of surprises for Caleb in their new Xhorhasian manor. Takes place during E62.

4: [names/nicknames](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275645/chapters/55875475) — POV Jester Lavorre, ambiguous time, pre-relationship, introspective, implied/referenced abuse, Jester & Frumpkin, Jester & Marion, background Jester & Mighty Nein. Names are such funny things, Jester is discovering.

5: [books/in the library](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275645/chapters/55985443) — POV Caleb Widogast, modern D&D AU, university AU, fluff, meet-cute, background Jester & Beau. Caleb settled in for a slow morning at the library, only to be interrupted by a very harried tiefling woman.

6: [hair](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275645/chapters/56187898) — POV Caleb Widogast, near future, pre-relationship, pining, light angst, Caduceus & Caleb, Fjord & Caleb, background Yasha & Caleb, implied Beau/Jester and Fjord/Jester. Hypothetical post-E99. They arrive at Rumblecusp and take a breather. Jester plaits Caleb's hair.

7: [dancing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275645/chapters/56276392) — POV Jester Lavorre, C2E97, not canon compliant, pre-relationship, self-discovery (or the process of it), light angst, background Marion & Jester. Trying to get as close as possible to Lord Dezran Thain means some trickery, so Jester waltzes a second time with Caleb. An alternate E97.

8: [battle couple](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275645/chapters/56514478) — POV Fjord, near future, pre-relationship, developing relationship, semi-graphic depictions of violence (YMMV), implied Fjord/Caduceus. The Gentleman "asks" the Mighty Nein to represent him in a sketchy tournament. Also, Jester flirts with Caleb.

9: [stargazing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275645/chapters/56602630) — POV Caleb Widogast, ambiguous time, Caleb's backstory, angst, unresolved, parent-child relationships. Caleb dreams of the dodecahedron and the possibilities it's revealed. Takes place sometime between C2E48 and E56.

10: [polymorph](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275645/chapters/57153334) — POV Jester Lavorre, C2E99, not canon, pre-relationship, being awkward about physical contact. On the second day to Rumblecusp, there's a giant eagle perching on the crow's nest.

11: [confined spaces](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275645/chapters/57382024) — POV Caleb Widogast, modern D&D AU, university AU, pre-relationship, mild angst, unresolved, background Beau/Jester and Fjord/Jester, implied Fjord/other. Seven Minutes in Heaven is the most frustrating party game Caleb has ever had the misfortune to encounter.

12: [diamonds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275645/chapters/57577003) — POV Caleb Widogast, ambiguous time, before C2E56, pre-relationship, introspective, angst, self-hatred, bittersweet, background Caleb & Mighty Nein. That was the thing about wallowing in the mud. You felt no shame in your filth.

13: [marion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275645/chapters/59528395) — POV Marion Lavorre, near future, after C2E99, pre-relationship, fluff and angst, emotional baggage, origami, Frumpkin is an emotional support animal, Caleb & Marion. Jester covers a thoroughly engrossed Caleb in little paper cats, and then the topic goes downhill.

_**Forthcoming:** _

  * Week 5 
    * Tattoos
    * Pets
    * Fairytale
  * Week 6 
    * Painting
    * Shopping
    * Nightmare
  * Week 7 
    * Pranks
    * Teaching
    * Picnic
  * Week 8 
    * Music
    * Domestic
    * Vacation
  * Week 9 
    * Sickfic
  * Week 10 
    * Someone in the party knows™
  * Weeks 11+ 
    * ???




	2. in the kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marion Lavorre encounters Caleb Widogast waiting for pastries at the bar downstairs.

Marion finds the wizard, Caleb, downstairs by one of the bars.

He is not perched on one of the stools, nor does he have a glass that would signal his presence here to be for the typical reason. He stands with an elbow on the sleek wood counter, staring into the empty space behind the bar with his chin resting atop the heel of his palm.

He cuts a sharp and handsome figure in the warm light of the chandeliers. The wizard has cleaned up well from the shabby beggar look Marion remembers him in when they first met, and there's more confidence in his bearing. He, as Jester and the others, has changed.

A warmth swells in her breast at the observation, along with no small amount of melancholy. She doesn't pretend to see all of Jester's friends as her _children_ , really. But they are her daughter's closest friends. A mother can feel nostalgic for their early days, and as an older woman she well understands what it is to discover more of who you want to be.

Caleb does not look the age of usual self-discovery, of course. But Marion could tell when they first met—there is something _young_ in him, something that has not grown so comfortable in his skin as it should have with the years. Something that yearns with youthful confusion for stability. And it is even more obvious now, with the dirt and unkempt beard long scrubbed away.

She doesn't pretend to know how such a man exists before her; she's certainly never encountered quite a character, despite the number of men she has entertained who are not so... brilliant. Caleb _is_ brilliant, and that draws her eye to the incongruence.

He turns towards Marion, as the fine heels of her shoes click audibly closer on the polished floor. He is quick to change expressions to something polite and friendly, appropriate for the mother of a friend. But absent-mindedness as well as his own apparent melancholy lingers for another second or two as he nods. " _Frau_ Lavorre."

Marion smiles at him. "Good evening, Caleb. I apologize if Carlos has kept you waiting for long."

"Oh, no," Caleb rushes to assure. Such a sweet man. "He is already off to fulfill an odd request of mine. It is no trouble."

"A request?"

Hesitation stutters from his lips. "Pastries. I have heard much about them, you know, the ones you can get in Nicodranas, from your daughter." The slightest red has flushed on the tips of his ears.

Oh? Marion is careful to remain outwardly impassive.

"They are quite good, she tells me," Caleb continues. The faint flush in his ears does not abate. "Yet we have not had the chance to get some despite the numerous visits we have made now. I was curious. Your service here is very good, that your kitchen keeps such variety."

"We keep ourselves prepared for many different tastes, of course. And when it is my daughter who has lived here for many years..." Marion chuckles, keeping a close eye on Caleb. "They have long learned to keep plenty of sugar and cinnamon on hand."

The wizard's responding smile is fond, crooked in a way that tells Marion he is not usually generous with such an expression. " _Ja_ , I understand completely."

"Many bakery requests?" she asks knowingly.

"In the strangest places," he agrees, that affection still quirking his lips. "If you would believe it, she has bought cupcakes while deep within a mountain."

"I find that easy to believe! I believe she may have mentioned the place... Uthodurn, yes? With the curious black moss cupcakes?"

Caleb dips his head.

"Ah." Marion studies him, the puzzle pieces of red ears, words soft with fondness, and the warmth in his eyes slotting together with some of their past interactions into a curious conclusion. But no need to startle him; tease it out gently, be a soft place to land. "You are all so kind to my Jester."

"She is a charming young woman, and kind to all of us."

"If I may assume, you do not seem like a big fan of sweets, Caleb."

His mouth hangs open for a second, and the fading flush to his ears returns in full force. "Well, erm, not so much. The request is... a sort of surprise."

"I see. Do you know what kind is her favorite?"

"...The bear claws." It is so soft as to be almost a mumble. "She has said much about them."

"There was a time in Jester's youth when she refused to eat anything except for bear claws. It was a short time, thankfully." Marion gives him a reassuring smile. "I am sure she will appreciate the surprise from you very much."

The wizard is looking away now, gaze fixed on the wood of the counter as he taps anxiously on it with blunt fingernails. The flush has spread a little to his cheeks now at Marion's words. She sidles closer, up to the edge of what she senses he considers his personal space. Enough to encourage intimacy without severe invasion. His fingers twitch.

"I am glad to see that someone keeps such close watch over my Jester," she says.

His fingers continue tapping at the wood as his face twists in search of an excuse. If Marion were one for exaggeration, she might say the tell threatens to wear the wood away.

"I... We—"

Marion rests a hand atop his frantic one, stilling it against the counter. This is very effective at silencing him. "Don't be afraid that I would tell her. Many secrets are safe with me. It's in the job description."

Caleb nods stiffly, eyes wide.

"You are not alone in this affection either," Marion adds, "in your party."

Slight shake of the head.

She pats his hand. "I just wanted to make sure you knew. That Fjord and Beauregard have soft spots for Jester too, I believe. She is hard not to fall in love with. As I would expect from my daughter."

The wizard's shoulders shrink even further at the mention of love, but he nods. "She is... very charming," he mumbles.

"As you've said many times," Marion replies, amused.

He shuffles in place and pulls his hand out from beneath hers to wring and twist his fingers together. They shy toward his forearms but catch on the cuffs of his coat sleeves. "You... will not mention anything to her."

Marion mimes the turning of a key at her lips. "If I must. I do, however, wonder what your purpose is in staying quiet."

The laugh that escapes his tense frame is a familiar kind of bitter to her. It tastes of seawater and long-broken hearts. "Ask Fjord or Beau, Ms. Lavorre. I am sure their own answers must be of more interest to you."

"Ah, but right now I am talking to you."

Caleb shakes his head, staring down where his hands anxiously massage his forearms through his coat. Stray, ruddy locks fall into his pale face. "I apologize, Ms. Lavorre, but this is not a discussion I wish to have."

Marion sighs, almost startled by the fondness she finds in it. She raises a hand to gently tuck back the wizard's hair.

His gaze shoots up to stare at her near-instantly. Behind the wide-eyed bewilderment and fear, now, rises something _lost_ ; there is an ache there that this conversation and her touch is aggravating. She allows the back of her hand to linger on the side of his face, warmth against warmth, and he sways into it for the briefest second before his stance locks.

 _Oh, child._ Marion again tucks back now-imaginary locks and pats his cheek. Caleb blinks at her with the same disorientation.

"I will respect your privacy, of course. But I am sure you understand this," she says. "There is much in our lives we may not get a second chance for. And those consequences and pain you may be afraid of will rarely remain something that you will wish to turn back the clock and escape from."

Wry doubt twists Caleb's lips.

Marion chuckles. "Listen. You know about the circumstances around Jester's birth. I loved her father for that short time we had together, and then he disappeared. ...Perhaps left to work in Zadash as The Gentleman." She shakes her head. There is too much in that sentence she still has yet to untangle. "But I do not regret my love for the pain that loss has brought me these last two decades. That love gave me my daughter."

"I do not want to hurt Jester," Caleb says quietly.

"As do we all." Marion gives him a sympathetic smile, resting a hand on his upper arm. "I would be alarmed if it was otherwise. But we will hurt those we love; it would not be love if our wrongs did not hurt each other. I ask that you think about it carefully, Caleb, for your own sake. And let my daughter make _her_ _own_ decisions on the risks she is willing to take."

His returning smile is thin and wavering.

"You are a kind man, Caleb Widogast. I certainly would not complain if Jester brought you home for a private dinner."

" _Ja_ , well." He will not meet her eyes, and his hands have returned to massaging his forearms with full force. An internal grimace pulls at Marion's chest. She is more used to conversations that ease, not discomfort. "Thank you. Have a good night."

"And to you."

Her unease about Caleb lingers, but Marion still smiles when she hears the excited yelling of Jester from a floor away not long after.


	3. sending/message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jester has prepared a couple of surprises for Caleb in their new Xhorhasian manor. Takes place during E62.

Jester wipes her hand vigorously on the tarp to get most of the paint off before gripping her symbol of the Traveler.

 _I would like to send a message to Caleb,_ she thinks into the ether, brimming with excitement enough to bounce on her heels, and the Traveler responds with a smile and a spark of power. Just like that, the symbol grows warm in her grasp and she opens her mouth.

Then closes it. Fjord's not here to count for her. She raises her free hand, wiggles the fingers in the air. There.

"Hi, Caleb! Where are you?" Five. "Are you in the house?" Ten. "Are you using the bathroom?" Fifteen. "I hope you're not because..." Twenty. "There's a surprise in your—"

The power zips away with her message before _room_ can fall from her lips. Jester pouts at the air.

The first thing she hears in response is laughter, and Jester's heart swells with the familiar warmth of bringing someone joy... along with the additional fluttering she's grown to associate with Caleb's happiness in particular. "What have you done, Jester? No, I am not in the bathroom. I went shopping for supplies. I will be back at the house shortly."

Jester recounts carefully with her fingers. Exactly twenty-five.

"How did he do that?" she asks aloud.

Well, never mind that. Caleb will be back soon! She grins and plants her hands on her apron-covered hips, spinning on a heel to take in the rest of her friend's bedroom. Half-covered in tarps to protect it from the paint, bookshelves crammed together and his desk shoved aside to make room. She deflates a little, wondering whether he will be displeased by the mess she's made, but only for a second. He'll understand once he sees her work.

A few minutes later, Jester is waiting impatiently by the front door. _Shortly_ could mean any second now.

"Jess?"

"Hi, Fjord," Jester replies, too busy peeking outside to look back. "What is it?"

"Just wondering what's up."

"I'm waiting for Caleb to get back!" She shuts the door to beam at him, then tilts her head with pursed lips. "What are _you_ doing?"

Fjord scratches the back of his neck with his free hand. Cradled in the other is an armful of logs, all whole and still covered in thick bark. "Since you guys are taking a break from the roof, Caduceus wanted some help with his room. I'm carrying these up for him."

"Ooh, are those going to be decorations?"

"I think so? He mentioned something about drying them out."

Jester steps over to lean close to the logs, eyeing the wood. The dark bark is rough and definitely fresh from somewhere, and she thinks she does remember something about preparing wood so it doesn't rot. Caduceus isn't averse to rotting things, sure, but maybe not the _bestest_ idea for bedroom decor. "That sounds so cool. I can't wait to see what he does."

"He is full of surprises, isn't he?"

"Yup!" Jester pats the arm holding the logs, right where the bicep pops out. " _And_ you're getting a workout, which you definitely need." She looks up and grins to see a bit of dark blush rising on Fjord's cheeks.

He coughs. "Yeah, well—"

Behind her, the copper chime Caduceus hung up peals in a clear, resonating shower of notes.

Jester spins around, Fjord and the logs dashed aside as she sees Caleb slipping in through the front door. She yells, "Caleb!" in gleeful greeting and leaps forward to grab him by the forearm.

"Whoa," he says, smiling but stumbling to save all his parchment and various bags from toppling to the floor. "Careful."

Her chest has returned to feeling all aflutter as she springs up and down on her heels. Caleb's smiles are just so _good_ to see when they sometimes feel rarer than a winter blossom.

"Why are you covered in paint?" he asks, then shakes his head. "Never mind, I am sure I will find out. Your surprise?"

She needs no other permission. Jester scoops some of Caleb's procured goods right out of his arms into hers and pulls him right past a bemused Fjord toward the laboratory and his bedroom, without regard for the way he yelps and scrambles to keep up.

As soon as she drags them both into the laboratory, Caleb tugs back on her grip. "Wait, we can put down my things here."

Jester unceremoniously dumps the bags in her arm onto the nearest counter with a modicum of free space. And then moves all of the rest right out of Caleb's arms before he can even blink in surprise. At this point, she is _vibrating_ down to her bones. Without another word, she swings open the door to Caleb's bedroom and whirls him inside.

She turns back to him and flings her arms open. "Ta-da!"

Caleb looks dazed, which Jester enthusiastically decides to take as a sign that her work has stunned him into wordless awe. She beams at him when he looks to her. His overwhelmed daze does not lift in the slightest.

"...I must admit, I was half-expecting a giant dick," he finally says. "Wow, Jester. This is... breathtaking."

"You like it?"

"Of course. But this must have taken you so long. Were you not working on the tower garden with Caduceus?"

Jester flaps a hand at him. "Oh, we decided to take a break for the afternoon. Lots of hard work, rest is important. And I already had a bunch of sketches, you know, since I've lived in Nicodranas my whole life. It was easy to just adapt some of those."

"Painting is hard work, Jester."

" _Eh_ ," Jester drags out, privately pleased that Caleb recognizes her effort. "I mean, it's relaxing for me, too."

Caleb steps past her to the wall, boots rustling the tarp beneath them. She catches up in time to seize his wrist before his fingertips can brush the paint.

"Not yet, it's still drying," she chides. The crusted paint coating her own fingers is sea-green vibrant against the pale skin of Caleb's wrist, and it matches the portion of wall just beyond his fingers.

Finished on the wall is a landscape mural of an ocean beach at dawn. Specifically the one they visited on their first arrival to Nicodranas, although Jester took a few artistic liberties. The water is that brilliant sea-green, greener where the light of the rising dawn shines upon it, with a sandy expanse of coast and cliffsides along the floor and up the right side of the wall. A couple of small ships sail along the horizon line, and at the farthest, highest point of the coast rises the distant shape of the Mother's Lighthouse.

The dawn itself is early, peeking above the expanse of ocean. The light from it is closer to yellows and purples than any richer reds, and some stars still dot the dark sky. A few white seagulls soar past the silhouettes of Catha and the fainter Ruidus.

"I thought, you know, I wanted to do something for you like I did for Yasha," Jester says, raising her gaze back to Caleb. His eyes are fixed, enraptured by the painting, though his hand twitches when she brushes her thumb along the soft underside in idle curiosity. "And I thought the ocean would be really pretty—and the _total_ opposite of fire. I kept the dawn from looking like fire, too, you see."

Caleb clears his throat. His voice, when he speaks, is a bit rough. "Oh, is it dawn? I thought it was dusk."

"Of course it's dawn!"

"Right."

His wrist now hangs limp in her grasp, no longer intent on touching the paint. But not drawn away. Warmth flutters all the way up to Jester's throat as she rubs his wrist again, trying her best to memorize how it feels through the dried paint smears on her thumb.

Caleb's hand twitches again. As expected, he pulls it out of her loose grip and tucks it with the other behind his back.

Thank the gods she tried that. Jester probably won't get another chance like that for a long time.

Then a light flashes on in her mind. "Oh! I almost forgot. Wait here."

She rushes past Caleb back into the laboratory to swipe a bag from one of the counters. When she pops back inside, she presents the bag to him in response to his befuddled face. "I think you'll love this."

"What is inside?"

Jester grabs the chair that used to sit beside Caleb's currently displaced desk and drags it until it's beneath a hook she installed on the ceiling earlier that day. It's easy enough to climb onto the chair and pull out the first flask and loop of silver wire to hook on. A few more minutes of this pass with multiple more hooks and flasks until the entire ceiling is encircled.

Caleb watches with intent curiosity. "So they are like the ones you and Caduceus have designed for the garden? They do not look the same."

Jester nods enthusiastically as she hops down. She darts to the magic switch for the lanterns, hesitates, then says, "Darn." The flasks should be activated first so they won't be stumbling in the dark—and in a bit, it will look _so cool_. She jumps back onto the chair to touch the flask. She whispers a short word, and the spark of the Traveler infuses the liquid of the flasks until they are all emitting a soft blue light.

Caleb opens his mouth.

"Just wait," Jester says, holding up a finger as she jumps back down. He closes his mouth. She returns to the switch and pauses with her finger over it to gesture at Caleb. _Close your eyes,_ she mouths, waving her free hand over her own eyes.

He gives her a narrow look but obediently closes them.

She grins and presses the switch.

With that, the particular glow of the flasks she made are no longer obscured by the bright lanterns. Soft blue light envelops Caleb's bedroom, dimming to near-darkness by the floor. She's very proud of herself for figuring out how to produce that gradient—a layer of black paint on the bottom of the flasks that thin out on the sides. There are netted threads of silver floating in the flasks, too, visible now without the lanterns lit, that glint and glimmer and mirror the gentlest flickers of silver-blue light on the walls.

Some of them waver and dance across Caleb's face, his eyes serenely shut. Jester almost has to catch her breath at how he truly does look as if he's standing underwater.

She pumps a fist. Success.

Then she cups her hands around her mouth and loudly whispers, " _Caleb._ Open your eyes."

A corner of his lips twitch up. "What if I don't?"

"Then you miss the second part of your really cool surprise and never get to go inside your bedroom again. Also I will paint a _huge_ dick."

He laughs and looks very cute doing so. "Fair enough."

The wonderment that overcomes his face as he opens his eyes is the best reward Jester could have asked for. She moseys over to his side as he stares around his room, transformed by the lighting that has transformed him, too.

"So..." She tilts her head. "You like it?"

His smile is warm as he glances down at her. "I think it's beautiful."

Jester's face heats up. She's come really close to Caleb, enough to see the stubble on his jaw where he will need a shave soon, and his new outfit means he looks much more appealing to ( _hypothetically!!!_ ) snuggle against.

She looks down. She can feel her cheeks all scrunched up in a big smile. "That's good."

There's a moment of silence. Jester studies their boots and scuffs the toe of one of hers on the tarp. She hopes the purple flush on her face isn't too obvious in the dim lighting.

Caleb coughs. "Perhaps we should allow my bedroom to air out so the paint can dry."

"Oh! Yeah, for sure."

She reaches for the switch to turn the lanterns back on, but Caleb captures her wrist to stop her. Only for the briefest second, as he drops his hand to his side right after. Her skin where his warmth sunk in tingles.

"Leave it off," he murmurs. "I like the lighting you made."

She beams widely at him. He smiles back, though this time it is small and only lightning-quick before he turns and leaves the room.

 _He likes it,_ Jester thinks with glee, and follows after him.


	4. names/nicknames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Names are such funny things, Jester is discovering.

Names are such funny things, Jester is discovering.

She knew from an early age that people held names close to their chests—when everyone from outside the Lavish Chateau called Mama _the Ruby of the Sea_ , but everyone inside could say _Marion Lavorre_ when the others were gone. And Jester, all alone in her room, could call her _Mama_ when she read stories to her late at night with a tired but happy voice and kissed her hair.

Jester's name, too, held its own special place. No one except the Chateau's staff even knew she existed for so many years, much less her name. It was only spoken when Marion's could be. For a long time, she was nameless to all except her mother, Bluud, and the servants she got to see.

No surprise, then, that _Genevieve_ never really caught on for Jester. It meant little else to her besides hiding.

But Mama told her about a tiefling tradition when she was really young. A tradition where you got to choose your own name when you were older based on a virtue—whatever you wanted to be, really.

"And Marion was who you wanted to be?" she said, scrunching her tiny child nose.

Mama laughed. "No, my love. It was the name my own parents gave me. I kept it."

Jester (Genevieve then) snuggled in closer to the crook of Mama's arm. "What name would you choose, then?"

"Hm. Well, I suppose I did choose my own name after a fashion."

"The _Ruby_." A hushed, dramatic whisper.

"Yes." Mama stroked Jester's blue locks, and she could hear the smile in her words. "A bright gem to awe people from every sea."

The memory of that tradition stuck with Jester. And a decade later, it was not _Genevieve_ secreted away in a corner of the Chateau and from the lips of everyone who bought Mama's time, but _Jester_.

The choice was almost easy. When the Traveler came (another who kept his name close), everything about her life changed. He brought her so much joy in the days when they were both children—when Jester really began to figure out what loneliness was. When she grew older, he was still there for her. So it only made sense to embody the greatest gift her god gave her.

She wanted to help people smile like the court jesters did in the fairy tales she read. She wanted Mama to laugh, to erase those lines of weariness and strain on her face every night that she snuck into Jester's room.

And now, being outside the Lavish Chateau...

She's found that so many people need a Jester. And somehow, she's ended up with the best group of traveling companions she could've asked for—and every one of them, too, seem to know how funny names are.

Fjord's only other name before the Mighty Nein was something the orphanage made up for him, with no meaning to him at all, at least until they all found out that it happened to be the name of one of Caduceus's three families— _his_ three closest names. _Nott the Brave_ , Nott liked to joke, has no comma in it; she's _not_ the brave, not the beautiful, not the impressive. For Veth, names can hurt.

Beau's name was supposed to be for a boy, she said. A son. Unfulfilled wishes to burden her. Yasha, so haunted by the ties that _Orphan Maker_ gives her to the tribe who killed her wife and the cult that forced her to murder so many people. Molly with his own ghosts, and the accident of _empty_.

And Caleb...

"You don't know how Caleb feels about his name, do you?" Jester asks Frumpkin.

Frumpkin peers at her from his tucked-up position on her bed. He sauntered in a few minutes ago as she was settling in for the night. Jester is perched on the edge now, legs crossed under her, as she slowly strokes his back.

"He hasn't talked about it to us, you know," she says. "Like... we know his real name is Bren. But we all still call him Caleb. Do you think he doesn't like his old name?"

Frumpkin's tail lashes once, twice.

"No, I don't think so, either." Jester flops forward to drop her chin on her hand, her elbow propped on her knee. "He seems to miss it a lot, right? I see him look so sad whenever we talk about something close to his past. Well, even _more_ sad than he normally looks, anyway."

She wants Caleb to be happier. More than anything else, that's what she wants for him. But she doesn't know if who she is, even with the name _Jester_ , is enough to do that. She suspects she's right. Whatever is making Caleb so unhappy—not just his pain or his fear, she thinks he can't let go of something she can't see—that isn't something she can fix with a joke no matter how hard she tries. Or with a different name.

"I hope he's not hiding it if the name _Caleb_ makes him uncomfortable," she tells Frumpkin. "You should let him know, okay? That if he wants us to call him Bren instead, that's fine. Names change all the time. I changed mine, you know."

Frumpkin lets out a little _mrrp_. It's out of interest in the conversation for sure, he's not a normal cat after all (not because Jester is giving him a good scritch under the chin).

"It used to be Genevieve, that's what my mama named me. But I didn't really like it, so I changed it. That's a thing tieflings do."

There is silence, because cats can't talk. Or at least Frumpkin can't really talk to Jester.

She pets him for another minute while staring at the wall with her chin still on the heel of her hand, then eventually she sighs and falls over onto the bed to splay out. It's not as comfortable as her bed back home, but she's used to that now.

"I wonder where your name came from," Jester says aloud. "Frumpkin. It's so squishy-sounding. Like you're a normal cat."

There's the soft sound of paw pads on fabric. Frumpkin appears by her face and sniffs her nose curiously before placing a paw onto her chest. She holds her breath as he climbs up fully and settles down, a warm and heavy weight atop her. Holding her breath probably wasn't a good idea. Now it's going to be harder to breathe, and she can't even sit up.

Jester smiles anyway and starts scratching Frumpkin around the ears. Gently, she can feel him begin to purr. "You're a good kitty. I hope you make Caleb happier."


	5. books/in the library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern D&D AU. Caleb settled in for a slow morning at the library, only to be interrupted by a very harried tiefling woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize to every non-us reader for yet another fic by a us writer with no other good frame of reference for higher education systems. LOL. i hope it's not very noticeable.

It was the first weekday of winter break, meaning that the university campus would be as barren of sapient life as the Barbed Fields. Thus, having to come in for work anyway would have been a slow torture—if Caleb worked anywhere other than a library.

It was already peaceful and quiet, nary a sound of keyboards clacking or students snoring through a power nap. Bliss to his ears.

Caleb did a brisk route around the shelves, grabbing books along the way, until he returned to the front desk with a stack of reading material. He didn't _smile_ at the books as he set them down, per se. After all, it still would've been nicer to read at home with Frumpkin purring in his lap. But this was good, too.

He was a third of the way into the first book of the stack, a treatise by Halas Lutagran on the necromantic foundations of healing magic, when he heard the entrance doors open.

He looked up, brow furrowing, just in time to flinch at a loud _yell_.

" _Beaaaaaaaaau!_ I need your help, where are you?"

A very blue, pretty tiefling woman flounced into the main hall, dark blue skirts swirling in with the bracing winter wind outside. Instinctively, Caleb wrapped himself with a free arm despite still wearing his coat. The cold did not agree with him these days.

She spun around to face the front desk, mouth open for more enthusiastic yelling, and stopped. "Oh."

He wasn't sure what expression he was making, but he was pretty sure it involved a grimace and a raised eyebrow. "Hello."

"Um." The woman fidgeted with a braid in her short hair, gratefully looking ashamed for a brief second before she bounced over to the desk. The multiple layers of skirt on her hips genuinely gave such an illusion when combined with her general air of enthusiasm. At least Caleb could assume she wasn't cold. "Is Beau here?"

"I am covering for her today. She is away on a trip."

"A trip?" the woman gasped. She threw her arms up in a huff. "She didn't say anything about a trip!"

"Since I only received the request last night, I can guess it was spontaneous."

She groaned. "Yeah, that sounds like her. I bet Dairon came over and kidnapped her, that would explain why I haven't gotten any texts back from her. She's really weird about not using phones when doing something 'important.'" She adds the last in a conspiratorial hush, eyes rolling.

"Right." Caleb's fingers in his book twitched. Would she leave?

Based on the begrudging but desperate look she gave him, after taking another moment for herself to grumble and cross her arms about Beauregard, he could only assume no. Inwardly, he sighed and tucked a pen from the counter into the book.

"So, look," she began, leaning over to brace her crossed arms on the counter. Caleb struggled not to draw back at the sudden proximity as she gazed up at him through her bangs. "I really need some help, please. I have a bird I'm bird-sitting because all of my roommates left to go home for the break except for me because I can't really go home for some complicated reasons I don't really want to get into but makes me really sad, and my roommate who owns the bird couldn't take the bird with her because her mom's boyfriend really hates birds—which, you'd think that would be a dealbreaker for the whole relationship, right, because _who hates birds?_ But whatever, relationships are weird—so I have this bird now, and maybe I told my roommate that I can definitely take care of a bird because I didn't want her to worry about it and how hard could it be, right? Except I don't actually know anything about taking care of a bird and I was hoping Beau would be here because she knows how to take care of birds, she has a parakeet, too, except now she's not here because she probably got kidnapped by Dairon which means I won't even be able to call her for help because Dairon made her turn her phone off!"

At this point, the woman's arms were flying all over the counter as she gesticulated her effusive, supreme distress. One of her hands came dangerously close to slapping the stack of books Caleb had collected into oblivion.

And somehow, she had said all of those words in a few seconds without hardly breathing. _He_ was still rebooting from reading a very engaging treatise less than a minute ago.

Subtly, Caleb shifted the stack of books away from her and worked his jaw.

"I do not know anything about caring for birds," he began.

The woman let out a long, horrified groan and buried her face in her arms. Her fingers went to bury themselves in blue locks.

" _But_ ," he said.

The woman's head flew back up, hope lighting her features.

Caleb stuttered at the abrupt heel-turn, and at the way happiness livened her round blue face much more pleasingly than despair. "But, erm, there are many books and computers here. I cannot swear to the accuracy of some of the books, which may be out-of-date or just old, but research is not too difficult. You can use one of the computers here to look for advice online."

The hope in her eyes dimmed a little as she pursed her lips, resting a cheek against a hand. "I mean, I thought about doing that at home. But I'm really worried about getting something wrong, and I don't know what articles are right or wrong either, you know."

Later, he would whack himself for being so weak for something as apparently simple as a charming visage. "I can help."

"Really?"

Caleb winced. Goodbye, Halas treatise. "I have a lot of experience with research. I can tell you if something appears accurate."

"That would be so helpful, thank you!"

She was beaming at him. It was very warm. He looked down at the floor, prayed to the gods he hadn't begun to flush, and said, "Okay, let me show you to the computer room."

Several hours later, the tiefling woman too had a stack of reading material.

"Really, thank you so much," she gushed, stopping on her heel to turn to Caleb as he returned to his spot behind the front desk. "You've saved my life—" she patted the top of the stack of printed articles "—and probably the life of Kiri, too."

"Oh, I would not say that." Caleb massaged his forearm, fingers flexing tight. "I sincerely doubt Kiri would have died under your care. I think you are cleverer than you give yourself credit for."

Her smile back was just as warm as the last sixty-two times she gave it to him. "Thanks, Caleb."

Caleb blinked, and then remembered for the fifth time about his nametag. He was so forgetful now for some reason. "It is my job."

"Still. Thanks."

He offered a tentative smile back.

"Oh gods, wait." The woman shuffled the stack of papers around until she cradled it with a single arm, chin on top pressing it in place, and stuck out a hand to Caleb. She was still grinning at him somehow, and the entire effect was unbearably adorable. "I haven't even introduced myself. My name is Jester. It was really nice to meet you."

He was helpless to resist. He took her hand and shook it. It was cool to the touch. "My name is Caleb. As you already know."

She giggled. The papers under her chin rustled. "Yup. You're really warm, you know."

"Ah, _ja_." Caleb tucked his hand into his coat pocket and tried not to blush for the thirty-fourth time. "I run hot."

Jester took a few steps back toward the exit, again rearranging the papers until she was holding them in both arms again. She paused and pursed her lips for half a second before asking, "Do you work tomorrow, too?"

"All day."

She nodded decisively. "Then tomorrow I'm coming back and you can meet Kiri, okay?"

"I... okay."

"Okay!"

She beamed at him. He smiled back and waved. She also waved, and then yelped and fumbled to keep the top papers from fluttering off as Caleb not-so-successfully stifled his snickers.

Finally she left, winter winds swirling in again in her wake.

Caleb rubbed his arms as he stared out the door after her, smile still lingering on his lips. Then he sighed, looked down at the counter, and put his elbows down to bury his hot face in his equally hot palms. "Fuck me," he mumbled into his hands.


	6. hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hypothetical post-E99. They arrive at Rumblecusp and take a breather. Jester plaits Caleb's hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took longer than i was hoping it would because my uni classes started up again this week. that, and this oneshot got longer than i was planning. like all these have. LOL. apologies for the wait! this may happen again.

After a fight with a dragon turtle, arriving at Rumblecusp was profoundly relieving.

Caleb watched with twitching lips from his seat in the rowboat as Jester and Veth practically tumbled out of it onto the wet sand. The latter didn't even bother to stand, instead rising to her knees to kiss the sand with loud, intentionally sloppy noises before rolling onto her back and throwing her arms above her head.

A whoop resounded in the cove, and Caleb glanced in time to see Beauregard launch herself out of the other not-quite-grounded rowboat to _literally_ tumble onto the beach, going from a graceful roll to a final, exhausted belly flop.

Her entire body heaved with a deep inhale. Caught by sudden adrenaline, he tensed and shoved his thumbs into his ears.

Still, he could hear her now-muffled yell. "Thank _fuck_."

A bird on the cliff above their heads startled and flitted out into the sky. He could imagine the echo bouncing off the rocks.

Caleb waited. Beau relaxed in the sand.

He unplugged his ears with a grateful exhale. He was all too familiar with the power of Beau's voice. His eardrums had sustained far too much damage from it for someone with his memory to not have a hair-trigger instinct. As he stepped out of the boat, the scrape of another rowboat beaching itself ground to a halt behind him.

"Well, I can't say I'm not relieved to be on solid ground again myself," came Caduceus's voice. Sand crunched with the thump of his staff.

"Same here," Caleb replied, turning to see Fjord and Yasha step out of the rowboat as well. Much further back was the third and final rowboat, carrying the remainder of their crew. They had taken a bit longer in order to properly anchor the Ball-Eater; the Mighty Nein—the 'Chaos crew' really—had simply wanted to get on land as soon as possible.

"I am very glad to be on land," Yasha agreed.

"Considering that Uk'otoa is after my ass—" Fjord rubbed at his chest where Caleb knew the ugly scar was, "—not being on the water will probably be safer, too. It'll be good to relax for a bit."

"Hey, guys!"

Caleb turned to see Jester farther up the beach with her hands cupped around her mouth. She bounced on her heels and jabbed at the cliffs, where they sharply descended on each side. Visible there was a steep and rocky trail cutting a jagged path up to the island proper. She returned the hand to her mouth and yelled the obvious: "A path!"

"We can see that!" he called back.

Jester gave him a thumbs-up, the white of her teeth gleaming in the sun as she beamed. Caleb felt the corner of his own mouth twitch up and stay there, as it was always wont to do around her happiness.

He would have watched her climb the path out of sight as well, her tail lashing excitedly, if a hand didn't place itself on his shoulder.

"So," said Caduceus. "How are you feeling about all this?"

A sigh escaped his lungs. He turned his gaze to the rest of the party. Beau was already trekking up the beach after Jester, yelling after her to wait up, while Veth brushed the sand off her dress and Fjord walked over to her side. Yasha had wandered a few meters down the beach where a few shells peeked out, and she was studying a particularly colorful one in her hand.

"Honestly?" Caleb looked up at the firbolg and rubbed the heel of a palm on his face. "Grateful for some kind of reprieve. There is a lot to still process about the last two weeks."

"Isn't that the truth."

Peace. He still hadn't quite got the notion through his brain. After a fashion it sounded... absurd. Meaningless. What did peace mean to an Empire that empowered a man like Master Ikithon to wage war against his own people? But he remembered his father's sorrow, the plain agonies of a rank-and-file soldier. At least there might be less death now.

Caduceus patted his shoulder and withdrew his hand. "As always, feel free to talk to me if you need a listener."

Caleb inclined his head. He probably wouldn't, but he appreciated Caduceus's generosity.

"I'll get the boats out of the waves. Why don't you go on ahead after Jester? You want to relax, and I can tell she helps."

His muscles locked up. And then he forced himself to relax and not eye Caduceus with excessive wariness. First Yasha, now him? Well, he ought to have expected it—of course Caduceus could pick up anything unusual if Yasha could. His expression was supportive and held no apparent hint of an ulterior motive, but the knowing glint customary to his gaze made Caleb's gut squirm regardless.

 _Is it so bad if_ he _knows? It's not as if he tells others about his observations willy-nilly._

Which reminded him.

Caleb leaned a little closer, and obligingly Caduceus leaned down to accommodate. He really was quite tall. "You are perhaps the most observant member of our group. Did _you_... suspect anything, about Essek?"

"About Essek?" He considered this for a moment. "I can't say I did. I knew he was hiding things, and talk about the mole made him really uncomfortable. But him _being_ the mole? No. Everyone like him is hiding something. And anyone in the Dynasty would be nervous about a mole."

"That is fair."

"If you want to know about my thoughts on Essek, I don't think stopping him is important. He already wants to stop. Even better, he wants to make amends. Even if he hasn't quite committed to that path yet. Veth and Beau... I don't really think they have the right perspective here."

Caleb pressed his lips together and sucked an inhale through his nose. Any thought of those recent turns in conversation made his stomach squirm anew. It wasn't as if he _disagreed_ after a certain point, but... well, he didn't like to think about why.

"Anyway." Caduceus gestured him toward the cliffs and the path that Fjord and Veth were now approaching. "Go on. I'll catch up."

Caleb was not athletic.

All of their traveling and comparatively much better nutrition than he was receiving before had strengthened him to potentially pre-asylum physical shape, but even that was not exactly built for a steep and rocky hike. Caleb was panting by the time he reached the top behind Fjord and Veth.

The exit greeted him with a swaying field of calf-high grass and wildflowers, sheltered by verdant trees.

Jester was already running through the plant life, spinning and dancing gleefully as she did. A bright orange blossom fluttered behind one of her ears. Pollen already dusted the hems of her skirts. She looked magnificent.

A distance away from her, within a glowing patch of sunlight that pierced the tree canopies, sat Beauregard. Her posture ostensibly suggested an intent to meditate, but instead Beau was watching Jester enjoy herself. A lazy and pleased grin stretched across her face as she yelled to _be careful, Jester, don't trip_.

Caleb looked down at the ground and very carefully thought about nothing.

"Wow," said Veth with some awe. "Yasha's going to love this."

Indeed she would. "I'll Message her."

Veth wandered ahead toward Jester and Beau as Caleb pulled out his coil of copper wire and Messaged toward where he last saw Yasha on the beach. As he received the reply that she'd be heading up, Fjord stepped over to his side rather surreptitiously.

Caleb raised an eyebrow at him as he tucked away the coil.

"I've never seen anything quite like this so near the ocean. The flowers, the grass. I thought the salt spray kept such things from growing."

"I am not an expert on plants," Caleb replied, "but I believe you are right. Perhaps the trees are sheltering them. Or it could be something else. Now what do you truly want to say?"

Fjord's smile was rueful. It wasn't as if he'd tried to hide it. In a murmur he asked, "What were you talking about with Caduceus?"

"Not much. Merely about the events of the last few weeks."

His only response was to nod a few times, lips pressed solemnly together. The action drew great attention to the new growth of his tusks; Caleb remembered when they were not visible at all—and actively hidden at that. _Confidence, real confidence, that's more valuable than any tailored suit,_ his mother had told him while smoothing the lapel of his best and not very handsome jacket before he left for the Academy.

Caleb jerked a chin toward where Jester was now tucking yellow wildflowers into Veth's headband. "Why don't you go over there, keep making that face. I think Jester will enjoy it."

Fjord gave him a look, brow furrowing. "What?"

"No, no, go back to that other face."

He hesitated, then returned to the same stoic, pursed-lips expression.

"Yes, that one." Caleb put a hand on Fjord's back and began walking him over to the glade proper. "Jester! You look like you are having fun."

"It's so beautiful, Caleb! This place is going to be perfect for TravelerCon." Jester spun around to face them as she finished securing the final flower into Veth's hair, and just as Caleb anticipated, her gaze alighted right onto Fjord's face. She clapped her hands delightedly. "Fjord, oh my gods, your _tusks_. They're growing so well!"

Caleb felt his lips twitch as he took a small step back, Jester rushing up to beam her brilliant smile at Fjord. The half-orc's cheeks were already beginning to darken, but he didn't try to hide his tusks. Good.

Fjord, of course, gave him a look as he was pulled away by Jester. One that said, _I know you did this._

He only returned a small, sly grin.

Thankfully as predicted, the next hour was one of unwinding. Yasha and Caduceus arrived at the top of the cliffs alongside Marius and Shelda—Orly was enjoying the cove, while Gallan had decided to remain behind on the Ball-Eater and finish repairing the damage caused by the dragon turtle.

Caleb had decided to settle down on the edge of the glade where the well-shaded grass made for a pleasant reading spot. Since it was warm, he laid his coat outer-side-down to sit upon. The faintest silver lines shone on occasion along his arms.

For the first twenty minutes, he wrote. Nothing disturbed him.

After he tucked that book and his ink away, he pulled out a thick tome that he had begun early in their voyage to the peace talks, before the attack by Uk'otoa had unsettled their comfortable routine. For another quiet half-hour, he read about the intricacies of Nicodranian economics and its role in the trade routes of the Menagerie Coast as a whole. He had borrowed it with permission from Ms. Marion Lavorre's collection before they had set sail.

He was partway through a section on the local shellfish industry when grass crunched up to the space in front of him. He glanced over to see a familiar pair of pollen-dusted brown boots.

"Hi, Caleb," Jester greeted cheerfully. She carried an armful of plucked wildflowers. "Don't mind me."

"Of course not."

But he watched as she walked around him until she was at his back and out of easy sight. There was a soft _foof_ of skirts and squashed grass that indicated Jester had sat down.

"So," came her voice from right beside his ear as she rested her chin on his shoulder. She snickered when his entire body jolted, and the pleased sound so close to him shot another bolt of adrenaline through his limbs. "What are you reading?"

Caleb cleared his throat and tried to settle his heart. "A book from your mother's collection."

"Ooh, really?" Her chin dug into his shoulder a little as she leaned forward.

"I do not think it's one your speed. It's about Nicodranas's economy."

"Ooh," she said again, this time with the inflection of someone scrunching up her nose. "I know which book you're talking about. Mama got that one from a really wealthy merchant from Port Damali. He was super boring and treated her like an idiot."

"Very foolish of him. Your mother is quite clever."

"Yup. And you know, I'm clever, too, but economics _is_ pretty boring."

"Indeed you are," Caleb replied with full honesty. "I'm sure you already know more about the Nicodranian economy than I do, anyway. Hence why I borrowed this book."

"Oh, totally."

He was smiling, because of course he was, and Jester's warm breath along his cheek was making something small and frail in his chest tremble. But she withdrew, and that small thing immediately missed her closeness. He wished it would shut up.

She patted his shoulder. "Keep reading."

Caleb took a deep breath and returned to his book.

It was difficult, knowing that Jester sat directly behind him. It became even more difficult when he felt the first touch of her fingers to his hair, playing idly a bit with the ponytail before untying the simple cord keeping it back from his face.

Abruptly Jester's fingers stilled and she said, "I can stop if you want."

Caleb frowned, then realized how tense his shoulders were. He winced and forced them to relax. Really, alarming her over something so simple. He was an idiot. "No, no, it's fine. Keep going if you wish."

"Okay." Her hand squeezed one of his shoulders. Briefly, her thumb rubbed his back through his shirt.

A muscle in his jaw twitched as he restrained a shiver. He was so weak.

Jester's fingers returned to carding through his now-loose hair. Carefully he exhaled. Plucked hopefully at the edge of a page. Resigned himself to distraction.

She was preparing to braid his hair, he could tell. Caleb remembered the last time she had done so: shortly after they had first met, while he had been inhabiting Frumpkin to observe the road ahead their shabby cart to Zadash. But then, it had been just a few small braids. Now his hair had grown longer—evidently, long enough for a full single braid, as Jester gathered and gathered locks of his hair to incorporate gradually into her work.

The process went slowly. There was a reason Jester had approached with an armful of flowers, he knew. Every so often Caleb felt the stems of them brush or prod against his scalp. And still her gentle fingers, carding and tucking and smoothing.

It was... _terrifying_ , how soothing it was. Good, in a way that did not bear thinking about. So he didn't.

It was the sound of crunching grass around him that made Caleb realize his eyes had fallen shut at some point. The ends of his ears warmed as he snapped them open again to see some of the party had grown curious. Caduceus stood in front of him, leaning over to watch Jester work with open appreciation, and Veth approached with a widening smile of understanding.

"His hair's been getting so long," came Jester's cheerful voice from behind him.

"It looks very pretty, Jess." Veth grinned at Caleb, and his face warmed further. He looked aside and studied a particular blade of grass very closely. "Caleb is looking downright handsome."

"Caleb is _always_ handsome. But his hair is definitely going to look amazing."

"I'm right here," Caleb croaked.

"Oh, shush," Veth teased, waving a hand at him. "Right now you are just the lowly vehicle for Jester's artistic expression."

Caleb gave her a dour face as Jester giggled.

By the time Jester completed her finishing touches to his hair, the rest of his friends had wandered over to watch and offer their own personally amusing comments to laugh about amongst themselves. Fjord had his own bright yellow flower tucked behind his ear, a particular shade that emphasized the sharp yellow of his eyes. Caleb knew Jester had intended that.

Yasha stood there with a warm smile, her flower-pressing journal in her hands. He caught her eye and made a small face, one that he wasn't even sure of the meaning. Yasha's smile merely went a little crooked as she shrugged.

He sighed. He didn't know what he expected.

Beau, meanwhile, was still wiping her eyes from a laughing fit at one of her jokes about his blushing. Indeed, Caleb's face probably was a shade of red that matched some of the flowers in his hair at this point. His insides squirmed at all this attention on him. In his mind repeated the simple mantra of _kill me_ , over and over again.

"There!" Jester announced, tucking a few stray hairs behind his ears. "All done."

So cued the sounds of awe, pleasure, compliments on Caleb's appearance, and how impressive Jester's skills were in braiding the flowers into his hair. Caleb wanted to sink into the soil beneath him and disappear.

A chin planted itself again on his shoulder. "Caleb, do you want to see?"

Her voice so close to his ear again drew him back to the moment. He blinked and pressed his lips together briefly. "Ah, _ja_. Sure."

Jester threw an arm over his other shoulder to wiggle her fingers in the air in front of him. Caleb stared in confusion for a moment, as Jester could not cast any fitting illusion spells, until a loud whisper at his shoulder said, " _Fjord._ Help me."

Chuckles all around. Caleb felt a small smile crack on his own face. Oh, Jester.

Fjord stepped forward to wave his hand above Jester's fingers. The air glimmered as a minor illusion manifested—the view from behind him of his ruddy hair, gleaming much more red than brown in the well-lit glade and braided in a fine plait. About a dozen flowers of varying size and color were woven in as well.

 _So silly,_ an old and familiar line of thought whispered. It was full of scorn and pity. _So ridiculous. This? These people? Her?_

"Don't you look so handsome, Caleb?" asked Jester with glee, wiggling her fingers beneath the illusion again. "It's pretty, right?"

Yes. Yes, them. Yes, her.

He smiled in wonder and let his cheeks burn red. "Yes, Jester. It looks lovely."


	7. dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get as close as possible to Lord Dezran Thain means some trickery, so Jester waltzes a second time with Caleb. An alternate E97.

They announce her mama. Jester spins on her heel, already feeling a smile spread wide on her face.

As the Ruby of the Sea descends the spiral stairs, the ruffled skirts of her deep purple gown caressing the pristine white steps, the accompanying violins and such enter with their opening strain. The chandelier lighting dims and flickers to provide a beautiful ambiance to the massive ballroom, which has a lowered platform in the center cleared of furniture for dancing. As a special performance by the Ruby of the Sea completely deserves.

Jester watches, giddy with her hands clasped together before her chest, as her mother begins to sing. She is always the most captivating woman in any room, and in a stage outside the Chateau? She is _so proud_ of her for more reasons than just her skill.

Oddly, at first the words are incomprehensible to her. She tilts her head, lips pursing. Mama didn't mention anything unusual to her about the performance she was planning. But then she recognizes the language from the few times she has heard similar consonants and vowels from Caleb.

The song is Zemnian. The language sounds just as wonderful from her mother's mouth.

Richly dressed guests begin to enter the dancing platform with partners in tow, and Jester beams to see how pleased and soothed they all are by the beauty of Mama's music.

Even better, it's well-paced and sung to a rhythm of threes. Perfect for a waltz.

Jester claps her hands together and spins again, tail curling. To where Lord Dezran Thain sits awkwardly at a table.

She almost vibrates with eager anticipation. Time for her to enact her brilliant master plan of getting Lord Dezran Thain to reveal to the Mighty Nein that he is actually Essek Thelyss, their best friend from Rosohna.

And the mole working with the Cerberus Assembly who inadvertently helped start a war between the Dwendalian Empire and Xhorhas.

No, Jester is not very happy with what Essek's done. But he's their friend, and he's always been nice and polite and very _very_ helpful to them even when it was inconvenient for him. She wants to give him a chance to come clean on his own. To make sure he knows he can trust them, even if he's betrayed their trust a little bit.

She utilizes every bit of swiftness and stealth she's learned from Nott— _Veth_ —over the months to slip across the ballroom to Lord Thain, using the other party guests to obscure her approach. Jester is one-hundred-percent sure that, to him, she apparated into existence like a certain teleporting drow dunamancer when she steps out beside the table and says, "Hi, you're Lord Thain, right?"

He startles so hard in his seat she can see the wine in his glass ripple. She stifles the laugh behind her innocent smile.

"Ah," he says. His voice falters with obvious nerves; sweat gleams on his brow. "Yes, you are one of the..."

"The Mighty Nein! We met you yesterday on the Martinet's boat!"

"Right, yes."

His illusory-pale hands tremble as he gestures. He really isn't a good actor when he's nervous, is he?

"You're a lord here, right?" He stammers—man, he doesn't even have his _story_ prepared—and with a bit of pity Jester clarifies, "Here in town, in Nicodranas. Right? Where do you live?"

"I... live, ah," he says. "Around."

He... Wow. _He_ was the mole this whole time? But ooh, maybe he's so bad at this because he secretly really wants to tell her the truth. Jester decides to give him a break on that one. "Around here. Like around the Marquis?"

Lord Thain agrees quickly, of course.

Jester plants her elbows on the back of a chair, still maintaining a brilliant smile for him. She curls her tail in the air behind her demurely. "Have you ever been to the Lavish Chateau? That's where the Ruby of the Sea normally performs, you know, and she's _so wonderful_. You live here, you must have been."

"I have not. I am, ah, what you would call an introvert."

"Aw, that's such a shame. You should really go sometime. Oh, I have a good idea!" And Jester stands up straight again so she can step eagerly around the table and grab Lord Thain by the hand. She's a little disappointed to find that she can't feel anything contradictory to the illusion; he's at least that smart. "I need a dance partner. And I promise I'm a good one—I'm the Ruby of the Sea's _daughter_ , you know."

"Oh, er, no, thank you." He tries to tug his hand out of her grasp. But Jester is stronger. "I'm afraid I am a poor dancer. I would step all over your toes."

Oh, _Traveler_. Essek floats around instead of walking on his feet, doesn't he? What if he tries to dance and pretend he's bad at it except he's not actually stepping on her toes because he's _floating_?

The entire concept distracts Jester long enough for him to add, with more grace, "You should let another take your first dance."

She releases his hand, which he pulls back to himself with naked relief, and pretends to ponder this with some sorrow and pouting of lips. "Well, if you're that sure. I'll dance with you second, how about that?"

"Ah, well, maybe third?"

But Jester is already off, pretending she didn't hear him over the dulcet voice of her mother.

In only a second she spies Caleb peeling off from a discussion with the Martinet, and immediately her clueless smile meant for Lord Thain warms enough to scrunch up her cheeks. He looks so handsome in the dark coat she and Caduceus had tailored for him, the gold of the damask underside gleaming when it catches the light. And he knows how to waltz.

Her palms are already tingling with excitement. Maybe she also wants to dance with him for more personal reasons.

"Caleb!" She reaches his side as he turns, startled, toward her call. She grabs his hands. "Caleb, Caleb. Dance with me."

He blinks at her a few times in rapid succession. "I, what?"

"Dance." Jester squeezes his hands in emphasis. "I just talked to 'Lord Dezran Thain'—" she says this with a bit of a scrunched nose and low, dry derision, "—and I got him to agree to dance with me as my second partner, so I need you to dance with me first so he has to after. Got it?"

"Erm, yes." Caleb nods decisively after a moment. "Yes, I see. Of course."

It's straightforward from there. Jester lets Caleb take the lead, since this time he's not drunk off his ass and definitely knows what he's doing. He guides her over to the edge of the lower platform and waits, head tilted and brow furrowed in distant concentration.

Jester glances up and opens her mouth to ask him—

In a swift turn, Caleb slips an arm around her waist and twirls her onto the floor where another couple left only a second before. She gasps and stumbles over his feet a bit in surprise, tail lashing.

"Sorry," she mumbles.

Caleb shakes his head, already looking apologetic. "I should have warned you."

His hand is warm on her waist through the silk of her fitted bodice, almost too much so in that strange Caleb way Jester is familiar with after so many months traveling together. She's wondered but not asked, before, whether it has to do with his favor for fire spells, but right now her mind only buzzes with thoughtless glee. She's _dancing with Caleb_ as her mother sings to them all.

Thankfully, her feet require no input from her to recall the lessons of her tutors. Only those first few steps of hers are blundering before the two of them together begin to properly glide around the floor.

More and more recently, she's imagined what it would be like to waltz with Caleb again. Now that it's been months, now that he's cleaner and happier, now that she knows him so much better, now that one of them isn't drunk and the other isn't so oblivious.

It is marvelous.

Unlike Jester, it takes a few more seconds for the furrowed concentration to smooth out on Caleb's face. It's been a really long time since he last waltzed with a clear mind, she knows; the mumbled admission of _eleven years_ in that terrible sanatorium echoes in the back of her mind.

But his hand settles around her waist, and his other hand tightens on her shoulder, and his gaze returns to the immediate present.

She squeezes his upper arm and smiles to ease the flutters in her chest. "Hi."

Caleb gives her a bemused look, but it's very faintly a smiling one, too, which only makes the flutters worse again. "Hello."

Finally, Jester remembers the question she was going to ask. "Do you know this song?"

"Because it's Zemnian?"

"Yeah."

Caleb is frowning and tilting his head again to listen to her mama sing. It's such a delightful look on him when she knows it's not because of something depressing or melancholy. And with eager cheer, Jester takes over the lead a little in order to push Caleb along as he begins to lag in his diverted attention.

A waltz really is fun to dance, kind and cute partners to be doing it with aside. She loves the way the twirls steadily flare out the ruffled chiffon of her skirts.

Eventually Caleb resurfaces and reasserts the lead. "It is not familiar to me, but I think I can tell you why," he says. "It seems to be a very old song from the Zemni Fields. Your mother sings about the Wildmother, I think, under an old name of hers."

Jester's lips form an 'o'. "So it's a song from before the Empire."

"Yes. One that is probably banned."

Huh. She glances back to the stage, where the Ruby of the Sea has drawn her voice into an instrument softer than the gentlest flute.

"I wonder what she means by it, when members of the Assembly are here," Caleb murmurs near as softly.

"Will she be safe?"

He squeezes her shoulder. "From this? I have no reason to think otherwise. She is beloved in this city, and Nicodranas is not really under Empire law. They cannot do anything to her for a single song, and I am sure she can play a pretty good fool if she is questioned."

Jester chews on her bottom lip but nods.

They fall into silence for the next round around the floor. It comforts Jester, after the reassurance Caleb was quick to offer her and with the warmth of his hands still on her waist and shoulder. It's easy to forget that this dance is supposed to be an intermediary step to tricking Essek when Caleb's shoulder looks so tempting to rest her forehead against.

She flushes at that idea. More and more, she's learned how different it feels to think about those things when they're real, and with a friend she likes.

( _Like_ likes? She doesn't know.)

She turns her gaze back up and finds Caleb already studying her. His face gets a little red and flustered when their eyes meet, but he offers a tiny, crooked smile.

All of a sudden, a wave of anxiety ripples in. Jester looks aside and bites the inside of her cheek. She admires him, yes. She thinks Caleb is very brave, very smart, that he's a good man. But how much does Caleb look at _her_ , at times like now under beautiful lighting about to trick a double-agent into revealing himself, and see someone _interesting_ rather than just amusing?

She still remembers how he mistook her for Astrid so many months ago. Does he like serious women like she probably was? She hates how she's discovered such a downside to the joking and pranking around she loves.

 _I'm the transmutation wizard, but you're the one who changes people,_ the memory of his voice echoes in retort. _I see it everyday._

"Jester?"

"Is this nice?" falls from her mouth. She looks back up at Caleb as her tail wraps tight around her own leg. She's frowning at him really hard, she knows she is, and she hates that she can't hide it. "Dancing with me? You would tell me if you didn't want to dance with me, right?"

He looks a bit bewildered but says firmly, "Jester, if I did not want to dance with you, I would tell you."

"Okay."

She almost wants to ask if he _did_ want to dance with her, then, if he didn't object. But right now that feels too bold. Right now she kind of wants to hide, or maybe find her mama after the show is over and pull her into a room so she can ask her about all these confusing feelings.

Caleb's thumb rubs against her shoulder. Still trying to reassure her.

Like that, a dam breaks. Jester ducks her head and buries her face in the dip of his shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut.

And it is nice. Warm, a little coarse due to the wool of his coat. She just wishes she actually understood herself and all these different dreams and desires in her enough to appreciate _how_.

"Jester?" Caleb's voice is alarmed. "Are you all right?"

She doesn't lift her head, but she _mhm-hms_ and nods into his shoulder and hopes he understands.

He doesn't fail her. He just exhales—she can feel the fall of his chest as he does, the beat of his heart somewhere within. Rubs her back the slightest bit with the hand that's on her waist. Gives her a moment. And then he waltzes them both right off the floor.

Jester still doesn't quite raise her head as he guides them back up, but she mumbles, "That was probably a good idea. I can't dance very well if I can't see anything."

Caleb chuckles a little. It vibrates against her forehead. "Tripping and falling would not be good, yes."

She finally looks up, blinking rapidly.

He's worried, she can tell. His brow is furrowed and his lips are pressed together and there's so much concern in those blue eyes. But when she looks up, he gives her a small smile. It's uncertain and questioning, yes. But it doesn't demand a single explanation from her except to know whether or not she's okay.

It really does baffle Jester how Caleb can so genuinely act like this and then believe he's a terrible person.

"You good?" he asks out loud, in a gentle tone.

Jester blinks some more and tries to smile, but she's not sure how well it works. So she gives him a thumbs-up. "Yeah. I'm okay."

He squeezes her shoulder once, quickly, and finally withdraws his hands. She misses their warmth, but he still stands close to her. He doesn't step back. That fact seems to settle something in her, smooth out the fears. "Let's go check on our mutual sneaky friend, then. _Ja_?"

"Yeah." Jester takes a deep breath, shakes her head, puts on a proper smile. "Yeah."

He offers her an arm, and she slips her own into it with some gratitude. From there, the two of them walk over to the table where Lord Dezran Thain still sits. He is strangely stock-still, and they quickly realize that his odd posture is not one he's maintaining on purpose. From there...

Well. They're the Mighty Nein.


	8. battle couple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gentleman "asks" the Mighty Nein to represent him in a sketchy tournament. Also, Jester flirts with Caleb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finished and posted this when i was exhausted, and now i have gotten around to fixing the spelling errors and making a few word choice changes.
> 
> the battle design you're about to see was 100% built off d&d nerdery. if you're knowledgeable in that sphere, i hope all the little workings i didn't elaborate on pique your interest!

"Caleb, you are squishy," Jester said in a hush, grabbing him by the upper arms. "So you need to stay back."

"But Jester—"

She slapped a finger onto his lips in a shushing gesture. Her gaze narrowed around violet eyes that burned with a defiant, unyielding fire. It was a rare expression on Jester, one that always took Caleb's breath away. But not out of character for her. Not at all.

"Shush," she said out loud. "Look, I have a plan."

*** * ***

Beau's leg bounced so fast next to Fjord that the floor vibrated beneath his feet.

He itched to put a hand on her knee to still it and calm her down. But considering how he just about had his face pressed against the iron bars of the railing, elbows on his knees and knuckles white from his clenched fists, he wasn't in much better of a state.

He and the others sat in an arena cacophonous with hundreds of onlookers' chatter, yelling, and munching of fried goods. The noise pounded on Fjord's already battered head, but they couldn't leave or fail to make a spectacle of themselves on the mock battlefield. Not without offending the Gentleman.

"How did we get here," Beau muttered under her breath, fingers flexing around her staff.

A large gloved hand patted her on the shoulder, and Fjord looked back with relief at Caduceus sitting behind them. He was much better at the comforting business, and he looked about a thousand times more serene and unruffled despite being coated in a fine layer of dust.

Caduceus gave him a smile before returning his attention to Beau. "They can take care of themselves just fine."

"But— _they're getting mobbed!_ " Beau gestured violently toward the sand below, where Jester and Caleb stood with heads bent close to the other. "What kind of a show is getting buried under ghouls and skeletons?"

Fjord and Beau had arguably had the easiest time of it against an ogre zombie and a wight. With the latter enfeebled by the broad daylight, dispatching them in a magnificent fashion had been simple.

Veth and Caduceus, however, had returned only a few minutes ago the worse for wear. They were going to be covered in rows and rows of bruises by tomorrow from both the claw clamps of the giant scorpion and the massive bites the giant crocodile had tried to rip out of them. The former was facedown on the bench, probably passed out from sheer exhaustion.

And now Caleb and Jester were supposed to face down a drove of ghouls and reanimated skeletons, spearheaded by a ghast and the bones of a fucking minotaur.

"Look at them," said Caduceus.

"Yeah, I am. They look tiny!"

"They're both _confident_. They've got something interesting up their sleeve."

Huh. A closer look suggested that he wasn't wrong. Caleb was nodding, raising a hand to Jester's shoulders to summon Frumpkin. The fey familiar curled around her shoulders and into the hood of her coat as she grinned and placed her hands on her hips.

Caduceus leaned back in his seat, a wide smile spreading on his face. "I think I know what it is, but either way I'm excited to see it."

Beau gave a look to Fjord, lips pressed together but head tilted in question.

He grimaced and shrugged. Might as well trust their friends.

The announcer's voice rang out throughout the arena, overpowering the drone of chatter—boosted by something like Thaumaturgy, Fjord guessed. "Welcome again two members of the Mighty Nein, who represent one of our esteemed sponsors in this tournament today!"

Cheers and applause rose from the rows of spectators around them. Fjord's entire body tensed.

Down on the field, Jester took a step forward in front of Caleb as the gates on the opposite end of the arena swung open. Caleb's own posture shifted, a hand clearly going to the component pouch on his hip.

"From our own in-house necromancer," the announcer continued. "Adventurers Widogast and Lavorre against _quite a mob_. A ghast with a gang of five gluttonous ghouls, and six stupefying sets of animated skeletons. One of them may make them wish they were in an elaborate labyrinth!"

Fjord scowled toward the bombastic man's box. If he would just _get on with it already_.

Then there was a heavy thud from the arena floor below.

From within the shadows of the gates came the blade of a massive axe, sharpened steel gleaming in the sunlight. Two great skeletal hands gripped its leather-wrapped handle. As the minotaur skeleton entered the arena proper, it had to duck so its prodigious horns would not scrape the top lip of the exit. The torsos of the humanoid skeletons that followed after it like a swarm could've been shattered in a single swing from its greataxe. The faint noise of clicking, creaking bones rose to Fjord's ears.

As the skeletons came to a pause, the ghast emerged.

Unlike the skeletons, real intelligence twisted the expression of the ragged, rotting creature. It glowered into the sunlight, pale eyes squinted against it, before it turned back to the gates and barked a word. Five dead-eyed ghouls followed, each of them in similar states of decomposition and worn common clothing.

"Ugh."

Fjord looked to see Caduceus with his nose scrunched up and lip curled.

Curious, he caught his eye and leaned in. Caduceus obliged him by leaning down and in as well, since he was an entire foot taller. The proximity, of course, made Fjord's heart do that inexplicable, annoying stutter that was growing more and more familiar to him. "What's up? Can you smell them?"

"Hm, that's an interesting question." He sniffed at the air. "No. Well, but it's not the smell. They're undead. I don't really like them."

Because he was a cleric that watched over the dead. "Ah, right."

Caduceus looked back at the arena, and his expression of disgust faded into satisfaction. "Thankfully, they won't have to exist for long. Our friends will be able to handle them."

Fjord nodded and returned his attention to their friends in time for the announcer to speak again.

"At the toll of the bell, the fight begins. One."

Inhales all around the arena.

"Two."

Below, Jester slipped her shield on and rested her other hand on the sheath of her handaxe. Behind her, Caleb's stance shifted into something solid and unyielding as he planted his boots into the packed sand.

Across from them, bones rattled and low growls sounded.

"Three."

The crisp peal of the bell reverberated through the entire arena as both Jester and the horde of undead creatures before her sprang forward. Fjord jerked toward the railing again as he gaped at the vision of the single tiefling with a cat tucked into the hood at her neck running right toward the entire savage mob.

"What is she _doing_?" Beau shouted beside him.

Caduceus chuckled.

As if his laugh had told Fjord exactly where to look, his gaze flew to where Caleb still stood. He was pulling one hand from his component pouch and the other from a pocket somewhere deep in his coat, and the latter hand crushed the thing he had drawn out in its palm. His gaze was fixed before him, every muscle in his body drawn taut, until abruptly he slapped his other hand side down into the crushed red substance and jerked it forward.

With the screaming howl of devoured oxygen, brilliant orange flame erupted from the sand in front of his feet.

Gasps resounded in the arena as the magical blaze crashed forward as a sinuous, towering wall. Mesmerized, Fjord watched the fire scorch a glittering glassy path to Jester and the undead creatures a second before their collision.

Jester raised her shield into the air and shouted.

Bright white light flared from her wrist—her symbol of the Traveler—and slammed outward in a rippling wave just as Caleb's flames encircled and engulfed the entirety of the lot with Jester at the precise center.

Many things happened at once.

A cacophony of unearthly shrieks pierced the air. Two of the ghouls and three of the humanoid skeletons disintegrated into clouds of black dust as the light from Jester's symbol washed over them. A fourth skeleton caught directly in the flames straight-up _exploded_ as deep fissures splintered through its bones like lightning and then shattered, blackened sparking shards flying out and skidding across the sand.

Jester sunk her axe into the thick shoulder of one of the remaining ghouls gnashing its jaw in her face. Frumpkin, tail poofed out like a feather plume, swatted it on the nose.

The other two ghouls and the ghast, not quite as close to Jester, were screaming. Heat rippled from the sand beneath their feet and the wall of fire encircling them. Rotted flesh, tattered fabric, and ivory bone smoked and scorched black before Fjord's eyes. The final humanoid skeleton had no mind or throat to scream with, and tried to still run for Jester even as its bones cracked and split apart in a less violent version of the other burned skeleton's demise.

Less reckless by nature, the minotaur skeleton had been a hair less hasty than the others. It was still outside the wall of fire. The flickering anima in its eye sockets, empty of self-awareness, glowed the red of Caleb's fire as it bore down with lowered horns right through those searing flames.

"Holy fuck," Fjord breathed.

A sharp pressure suddenly gripped his forearm. Beau's hand had shot out to the side and grabbed him.

Onlookers yelled and hollered. Down below, Jester yanked out the blade of her axe in time to dive and shove the ghoul directly into the path of the now singed and raging minotaur. Dark gore splattered across the sand as a blackened horn tore through the chest of the ghoul and sent it tumbling into the flames.

Jester spun on her heel to stay upright, straightening in time to catch the claws of the smoking ghast on her shield. Sparks flew.

A hand came to rest on Fjord's shoulder as Caduceus murmured, "And there goes Caleb."

His gaze darted back to Caleb. He still stood in the exact same place where he'd started, but now he was extending the object he had pulled from his component pouch looped taut around his fingers. It was too fine an object for Fjord to make out from his distance, but he didn't have to—he knew it was a familiar, elaborate web of string.

His eyes were closed. It took a split second for Fjord to understand why.

He glanced back at Caduceus, a swell of impressed pride rising in his chest, and the firbolg must have seen it in his face because his smile was smug. Fjord flashed a wry smile in return, heart in flutters.

Then he turned back to the battle in time to watch the five glowing streaks of fire flit out from beneath Caleb's palms on the sand.

In the circle of arching flames, Jester still stood her ground in the dead center as she wove between the ghast and the remaining two ghouls. Claws shredded through the fabric of her coat as she caught a ghoul's lunge with her shield and shoved back before swinging her axe clean through the other ghoul's neck.

As its head fell, Caleb's threads of fire hit their marks.

The now-collapsing body of the beheaded ghoul burst into searing flame as it slumped to the ground. Jester kicked it away as the other ghoul similarly fell shrieking in a pillar of fire that licked at the sky. A third slammed ineffectually into the wall of the arena, while the fourth climbed up the back of the minotaur skeleton as it turned for another charge at Jester. Bovine ribs and vertebrae cracked and burned in the consuming heat.

Flames crawled over the ghast, too, but its charred and shriveling form still lunged forward. Both it and Jester tumbled across the heat-soaked sand.

Fjord shot to his feet at the same time Beau did in the corner of his eye. Instinct demanded that he jump down there with a Misty Step or throw an Eldritch Blast, and his hands flexed as he restrained himself. _She's fine. She'll be fine,_ and the voice to that thought sounded a bit like Caduceus.

Evidently, Caleb did not have his own reassuring Caduceus voice. His eyes snapped open, and his head recoiled so violently that he almost fell back on his ass. With a frantic wave of his hand, the wall of fire sputtered and dispersed into wisps of white smoke.

As he did, the minotaur skeleton shook off the last of the webbed fire and turned its glowing red gaze to Caleb.

From the stands, Fjord couldn't hear whatever curse must have slipped from Caleb's moving mouth. The wizard took a step back as the minotaur raised its soot-stained greataxe and ran toward him.

In alarm, Fjord's gaze hunted for Jester. Where was she? She—

Had left the charcoal remains of a crumpled ghast in her wake. With a growing dark stain on her bodice, she, much closer to the minotaur skeleton than it was to Caleb, dashed forward and tossed aside her handaxe and shield to summon a massive, translucent lollipop to her hands. Its sharp, serrated edges glinted in the sunlight.

Needless to say, the image of Jester shearing a minotaur skeleton in half with a giant lollipop was glorious to behold. If the rest of the spectators were a bit bemused with their cheers, they just didn't understand magnificence when they saw it.

*** * ***

"Holy shit, Jester," Beau said as she raised a hand. "That was badass."

She grinned, face dusty and soot-streaked and a bit splattered with dark congealed blood, as she skipped up and eagerly slapped Beau's hand in a triumphant high-five. "Wasn't I super cool?"

" _Very_ ," Fjord confirmed with his own grin as he reached Beau's side. "I think we were all holding our breaths by the end."

"You were terrifying!" gushed Veth. "Your father has to be impressed when he hears about today."

Jester's smile brightened as if the hood had been lifted from a lantern.

Fjord side-eyed Veth. She'd definitely been passed out on the bench for the entire fight and only seen the aftermath.

Veth's returning side-eye glinted with a silent dare. Unbidden, it brought to mind that fateful day trekking through the mountains to Uthodurn when Veth had challenged Beau to a tree-climbing contest and fucking _shot her in the ass_ in an attempt to win.

He decided to let it go.

"Oh, my breathing was normal. I think you two did a fantastic job," said Caduceus, nodding to Caleb.

Caleb's responding smile was small, thin, and crooked. He looked exhausted, and there were faint reddish smears on his face from where he had probably brushed the hands still coated in the remnants of his red phosphorus. As Fjord watched, he smeared a little more of it on his cheek and ear as he tucked back some loose locks of hair.

The foul smell of ash and burnt flesh clung to them both. It occurred to Fjord that the fatigue straining Caleb's face might have more to do with that than anything else he'd gone through in the arena.

Jester sidled over to Caleb's side and slipped an arm through one of his. She beamed up at him. "Yeah, Caleb, you were fantastic, too! There was no way I could've taken them all without your spells and help."

He shook his head. "It was all Jester. Her clever and brilliant plan."

"Aw." Jester rose up to her toes and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Caleb."

The smears of phosphorus were now disappearing among the ruddy red of Caleb's flushing face. His expression had frozen in a very odd mix of something that was, to Fjord's best guess, semi-pleased disorientation.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Beau and Caduceus give each other significant looks.

Jester was still smiling at Caleb.

Fjord felt his eyebrows rise as he looked at Veth for an answer to what was happening. Veth shrugged, clearly just as confused.

"Well," Caduceus said to everyone with the placid serenity of a man who was both stating the obvious and one-hundred-percent certain that he would be agreed with. "I think the next best course of action for us is to find a bathhouse."


	9. stargazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb dreams of the dodecahedron and the possibilities it's revealed. Takes place sometime between C2E48 and E56.

A cloud drifted above.

In such a deep night sky, it would have been difficult to see it if not for the multitude of stars outlining it in soft silver. Caleb watched the cloud ever so slowly cross what must have been miles but looked like only an inch to him. So many glittering white specks disappeared behind it, while more reemerged on the other side.

His gaze fell. The sky melted without distinction into the horizon; it was all water, as far as his eye could see, crystal clear and still. The endless stars reflected off the surface without flaw. Ripples fanned out beneath Caleb's feet, as if he had just stepped down.

No moons were visible. No Catha, and certainly no Ruidus.

It was the inside of the dodecahedron, he knew. _Somewhere_ in it. He was dreaming.

"It's so pretty," said an awed voice behind him.

Caleb startled and turned in time to feel a calloused hand slip into his own and interlock their fingers. Familiar purple eyes scrunched at their corners as Jester smiled up at him and pressed her side against his arm.

He looked aside. Tried not to twitch or begin breathing strangely. Firmly reminded himself that this was a dream. And squeezed her hand. " _Ja_. It is."

A fond sigh. "You're so silly, Caleb, you know that?"

"Me? _I'm_ the silly one?"

"In a very different way." Jester placed a warm palm on the hand she was holding so she cradled his in both of hers. "Don't worry, we can both be silly together. It'll be fun. You can be the mysterious wizard that distracts the shopkeep from noticing the big butt I'm painting on his sign."

Caleb cracked a crooked smile at her. "You are so ridiculous."

"Don't you love that about me?"

His breath caught in his throat, and he fought to ease it again.

"Caleb?"

The sound of her uncertainty struck his heart like a cold knife. He turned away, closed his eyes and exhaled, " _Ja_." Was it defeat if he compelled his own confession? " _Ja_. I do."

" _Ja_ ," Jester echoed, her grin audible. "Well, that's good. Because I'd never change that, not even for you."

His voice came out in a whisper. "That is good. Because I would never want you to change."

"Thanks, Caleb. I like you the way you are, too."

Her horn pressed into his shoulder as she leaned onto him. His every nerve fixated on all that contact along his side, on his hand still enclosed in hers as she brushed the back of it with her thumb. Caleb shivered, cold and yet so warm at the same time. He wanted to melt into this. He wanted _this_. Was that really so bad a feeling?

As if in answer to his conflict, his gaze caught on the silhouettes of two people standing a little ways off. They had not been there before, but that observation slipped from his mind when some shadow—from that cloud overhead?—retreated to let the stars illuminate the two figures.

Their backs were to him, but he didn't need to see their faces to recognize them.

_Papa. Mama._

_They_ were why he traveled with the Mighty Nein. Why the existence of the dodecahedron had felt like a validation of his resumed, blackened life. How could selfishness ever compete? Caleb took a step forward, but the grip on his hand tightened.

"Don't go."

The pure sorrow in Jester's frown made Caleb waver, but only for a second.

"It's my parents, Jester," he said softly. "I have to."

"If you do, I'll never get to see you again."

In her eyes he saw an argument. One that was growing more and more well-trod as more days with the Mighty Nein passed now.

And his resolve only ever grew weaker. "The past will not change that much. You... You will still be in Nicodranas. I could find you."

Jester stomped a foot, more waves rippling across the water, but her expression was one of disappointment instead of anger. "That's not what I mean. Me, the Jester Lavorre right here that you know... _I'll_ never get to see you again. And that Jester will never get to meet _you_." She poked him in the rib, right by his heart. "The Caleb Widogast who's a little stinky and shoves his hands in bread when it's cold and watches his friend's dog when she wants to go shopping even though he hates dogs."

Caleb closed his eyes and tried to remember that Jester in the waking world had not noticed the weakness in his gesture that day. It was only Jester in this dream who knew what he knew. "You don't know that."

"But you know you'll lose me forever. You'll lose _us_."

She turned to motion at the horizon behind them, and Caleb was helpless to not follow with his own gaze.

There stood the rest of the Mighty Nein. They were too far for him to make out their expressions, but he could see their postures. Fjord, his arms crossed tight over his chest. Beau leaning against her staff as she watched from afar. Nott sitting cross-legged on the water surface, Caduceus standing beside her like a sentinel as the crystal atop his staff glittered from the stars above. Yasha with her great skeletal wings held loose behind her. And Molly, slowly shuffling his deck of tarot cards.

He knew Molly had only used his knowledge of people for his readings, nothing more mystical than that. But now that he was gone, Caleb wondered what he might have pulled out had he let him read the cards for him.

Surely, one of them would have been the Tower.

He shook his head at Jester and said, "You don't understand."

For a second, it was as if flame burned behind her eyes as she scowled and struggled with outrage. But she visibly held back until the rage had banked itself into smouldering coals, and she shut her mouth to glare at the empty air beside her.

Her hand now clutched his tightly enough that his knuckles creaked in her fingers. But he didn't protest.

"Maybe I don't," Jester finally said, words a little sharp. "Maybe I don't get all the things that happen inside your head because you never tell anyone. But I do know what it's like to love your parents. To grow up _knowing_ how much they love you. And to miss that so much when it's not there."

Caleb could only close his eyes as her voice got softer and try in vain to ignore the truth in it.

The grip on his hand loosened until it would be so easy for him to pull away if he so chose. "It... It's your choice to make. But I don't want you to go. I don't think you want to, either."

He stared at her slumped figure.

"I do," he whispered. "And I really don't. That is the problem. That I don't know what to do with myself. With this life."

Jester gave him a wry twist of her lips and said, like a confession, "Well, you're in good hands with us. None of us really know what we're doing with ourselves, either."

He wasn't sure if the face he was making counted as a weak smile. "Thank you."

Very briefly, she squeezed his hand.

Caleb looked back at the distant, faint silhouettes of his parents. At the drab farmer's clothing and the worn uniform of a Righteous Brand footsoldier on their backs. The dodecahedron had shown him his plans were possible. Yet his chest ached with a pain he thought he hadn't felt since he first woke up with the belief that his parents were traitors.

"You know..." Jester said quietly. "Sometimes, the things that are the most beautiful are what can hurt you the worst."

And he woke up.

Caleb had to blink unseeing at the ceiling for a moment as the gears in his brain reoriented. Recalled the details of the dream so he could properly commit it to his pristine memory before it faded as dreams did. A thin veneer of a cold sweat prickled on his skin.

He sighed, rubbed his face, and tried to ignore the gaping maw of emptiness in his chest as he turned to go back to sleep.


	10. polymorph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the second day to Rumblecusp, there's a giant eagle perching on the crow's nest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gah did this take way longer than i would've liked. uni and mental health is kicking my ass, sorry! i'll get back into the swing of it eventually. hope y'all are doing well <3

On the second day to Rumblecusp, there's a giant eagle perching on the crow's nest.

"I mean, that's pretty much the perfect place for one if there has to be one," Jester says with a frown. She's squinting up at the bird, swaying on her tippy-toes and shading her gaze with a hand. The sun isn't that bright since it's early dawn, but who tries to look at something that far without putting their hand above their eyes? She watches the bird's bright yellow beak slip in and out from beneath its wing as it preens.

"You are n-n-n-not wrong," Orly drawls at her side. "It hasn't tried to attack any of us, a-a-a-at least."

Jester settles back onto her heels. Her first thought on this eagle—

Well, her first thought was that giant eagles are _seriously_ huge. She's gotten to see a giant eagle a couple times now from a normal perspective—her as a tiefling instead of a giant eagle as well—but the sight still strikes a muted awe in her.

They are definitely called _giant_ for a reason. They could probably eat a regular eagle. In fact, that beak could bite her head off.

But her second thought is a string of connections made one by one. Their distance from any possible land or roosting sites. How the dawn is still breaking, and no one saw it arrive. The way the giant eagle's brown primaries glow almost red where the sunlight warms them just right, as if a certain wizard didn't bother to visualize an intentional look before casting Polymorph.

Jester turns to Orly with a very serious expression and says, "I know exactly what to do. Don't worry about it, it will be gone in no time."

He inclines his head, wrinkled neck stretching a little further out of his shell. There's a rise to one of his eyebrows—Orly knows she's playing at severity—but he doesn't mention it.

She smiles at him, then skips over to the netted rope that hangs beneath the crow's nest.

A few minutes later, she hauls herself up with a quiet _oomph_ over the edge of the crow's nest opposite the giant eagle. His head turns to gaze at her with one bright blue eye as she stands and brushes off her skirts. The ocean breeze is stronger this high up, and she has to angle herself a little so that her hair isn't whipping in front of her eyes.

"You're worrying the crew, you know," she mock-chastises.

The giant eagle tilts his head.

Jester props an elbow on the parapet beside the eagle and leans her cheek against a palm to look at him. "Why are you a bird right now, Caleb? Well, hm. You can't really tell me anyway."

White flickers across his eye in one of those funny bird blinks.

"Are you okay?" she asks softly.

He blinks again, then gives her a soft click and dip of the head.

"Okay. Would you like some pocket bacon? You haven't eaten breakfast, right?"

Another gentle click.

Jester unslings the haversack from one shoulder and pulls out a handful of pocket bacon she got from Beau a few days ago. It's a bit stale and dry now, but her standards are already pretty low when the food is unironically pocket bacon. Ship rations hard enough to break teeth and bland conjured food get _very_ boring very fast.

She plucks up a couple of the small slices of meat by their ends with her fingertips. Eagle Caleb's beak is huge, hooked, and could definitely slice her hand open at the right angle.

"Don't bite me, okay?" she teases as she offers up the bacon.

He blinks at her, then at her hand. With care, his massive bird form shuffles closer and leans down to gently tug the meat from Jester's hand. An upward snap of the beak, and it vanishes down his gullet.

He really is huge in this shape. On the parapet of the crow's nest, his bulk looms over her in what could have been a terrifying silhouette. But the early dawn softens the giant eagle's stark lines, dark feathers warmed by their ruddy undertone, and the crisp blue of his gaze is too familiar to Jester to ever scare her—not even above such a big, flesh-rending beak.

What does it feel like? She reaches up, high enough to balance on her toes, and touches it.

The honey-yellow surface is smooth. It reminds her of her horns; hard but not like rock, not like it's very dense. Not really warm, either, which she does frown at. Caleb is always so warm, it's strange to find a part of him in any configuration that isn't.

During her brief examination, he doesn't shift his head. He keeps it still as she brushes her fingers along his beak.

Jester settles back on her heels and smiles at him to conceal the sudden flutters in her stomach.

Eagle Caleb gazes down at her and blinks again with that weird bird eyelid. The fact that he doesn't have much of an expression that she can read doesn't ease her self-consciousness. She tucks stray hair behind her ear and says, "I bet you're starving, huh. I'll give you some more."

Over the next few minutes, Jester hand-feeds him the rest of the pocket bacon.

She can't help but smile the entire time at the careful delicacy with which he takes each piece from her fingers. It's clear Caleb is well aware of the natural weapon of his mouth. Really, he's more wary of it than she is. It's very endearing to see.

So when the last piece has disappeared, she can't resist the opportunity to reach up again—this time to feathers.

The wing she faces sits folded against his side and looks broader than she is tall. Eagle Caleb could probably knock Caduceus overboard if he smacked him with it. Jester strokes a hand across its length, following the sweep of its feathers, and admires the glossy sleekness beneath her fingers.

Eagle Caleb squawks.

"What? You're very pretty, you know."

He squawks at her again. She raises her eyebrows at the way his head tilts back and forth in between the rapid blinks of his eye. As if he's confused or flustered.

Her smile broadens into a grin. Silly man.

He doesn't move away, thankfully, so Jester keeps petting him. Beneath the visible feathers right on top of muscle—between his shoulder or elbow or wrist, she doesn't know a single thing about eagle anatomy—there's another layer of feathers that are softer than the pillows of her old bedroom at the Chateau. Eagerly she buries her fingers into it for a moment.

It's much warmer there, too. Suits Caleb far better than that beak.

Eagle Caleb bears her caresses with only a few plaintive squawks the first couple times. But by the third time she sinks her grasp into his down, he squawks louder and wriggles his wing to dislodge her hand before hopping a step away.

The cool ocean breeze snatches the warmth from her fingers. Jester pouts.

He shuffles away further in order to shake off his feathers a little, and it occurs to her that she was... fondling him, wasn't she? She winces. Yes, he's an eagle right now and it was only the equivalent of his arm. But she's been trying to _not_ tease people so often, and now Caleb looks as uncomfortable as a giant eagle can with wings still tucked in.

With a sigh, she inches a little closer to Caleb and puts her elbows on the parapet again. She tucks her hands in her armpits.

He eyes her warily.

"Sorry. Your feathers really are soft, but I made you uncomfortable. That was rude of me," she says.

Eagle Caleb tilts his head. Gazes at her for a long moment.

She looks aside at the wide-open, sparkling ocean and presses her lips together to hold back any excuses from tumbling out.

Then there's the soft scrape of talons against wood. Jester turns to see him shuffling over again and straightens, uncertainty welling up inside, in time to feel the hooked point of his beak press against the crown of her head as gently as can be.

It brushes shallowly against her hair. Like an attempt to comb through the locks.

She gives him a bemused smile as he ambles back to his previous position. Trying to puzzle out what he meant with that gesture only bewilders her into endless circles, but she's warm with relief and the renewed flutters in her chest. That's good enough.

"Do you want to fly?" she asks Caleb. "I'd like to escape for a little bit, too."

Eagle Caleb squawks and bobs his head with enthusiasm.

Twenty minutes later, though, the feathers vanish beneath her grip into a much more familiar purple coat and cool open air as the Polymorph wears off. Evidently it's much easier for someone smart like Caleb to forget about time limits when they're soaring over the ocean as a giant eagle.

But they're only in freefall for a few seconds before Jester reaches for the power of the Traveler and explodes into blue feathers. She swoops down and catches Caleb with her own freshly transmuted eagle talons, cackling in sharp avian shrieks.

So they're okay.


	11. confined spaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern D&D AU. Seven Minutes in Heaven is the most frustrating party game Caleb has ever had the misfortune to encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this takes place in the same universe as chapter 5 (books/in the library) but a while later. this is perfectly standalone, though! i just want to let you guys know.
> 
> in addition, since the story does not elaborate on it, the game "seven minutes in heaven" refers to a party game usually for young folk in which players spin a bottle and two unfortunate souls (either the one who spun + the one at one end of the bottle, or the two people at each end) have to stay in a closet or other small room together alone for seven minutes. kissing is one common expectation.

When Veth reappeared from the kitchen with a devious grin and a water bottle, Caleb groaned. "What are we, teenagers?" he said as she hopped over the counter and shook the water in his face.

Evidently to her, the answer was yes.

The closet he stood in was very dark. Since Beauregard's apartment was quite fine but still what a university student could afford with a scholarship and a part-time library intern wage, the storage room had no light source except for the thin glowing gap beneath the door where light from the hallway outside crept through.

It was also small and cramped. The smooth synthetic fabric of a giant, fluffy coat pressed against the side of Caleb's face, not quite shoving his glasses askew on his nose.

Only an arm's length in front of him was Jester. She had perched herself atop a stack of boxes, and judging by the gleam of the silver jewelry on her horns and ears, the added height made hers nearly match his. He could discern the lines of a frown on her face as his eyes continued to adjust to the dimness of the closet.

Caleb fixed his glasses and cleared his throat.

He didn't say anything after that. He was absolutely bereft of any ideas on idle conversation; his mind buzzed too loudly with half-panicked static for that.

 _Thump, thump._ If he squinted, he could see Jester's boots bounce off the boxes as she kicked her feet idly. "So."

"So," he mumbled.

There was silence for only a few seconds. Then Jester said, "You know, this is going to be a really long and _really_ awkward seven minutes if this is what we do the entire time."

Caleb snorted despite himself. "Stand silently in the dark?"

"Well, I'm sitting. Do you want to sit?"

"No, no. I'm fine."

After a moment, Jester began to hum. Caleb recognized it as one of her mother's songs.

He pushed Beau's coat away from his face. Luckily, the carpet silenced the sound of his anxious foot-tapping, but he heard leather and fabric scratch against cardboard as Jester tugged the silhouette of her legs up to sit crosswise. That couldn't be at all stable, possibly dangerous with the confines they were trapped in. Caleb certainly wanted to say so. But he bit his lip instead.

Why was he playing along with this? He'd known this was a bad idea, parties were _always_ a bad idea. But he'd thought he was safe with only the Mighty Nein. Normally he would even be right. Well, more fool him.

Fuck this. Caleb shifted in place and reached for the doorknob.

"Did you know I've never kissed anyone before," Jester blurted. Her horn jewelry jingled as she twisted a lock of her hair.

Caleb stilled his hand, then tucked it behind his back.

She continued to ramble, and the fragility in her voice pulled a sympathetic thread taut in Caleb's chest every time a word _creaked_ out more than was spoken. "I mean, I kind of have before. But I don't really think it counts if you were drowning and the kiss was actually CPR from one of your best friends who's worked as a lifeguard, no matter what Veth says. I'm twenty-three already and I've never kissed someone. Isn't that weird?"

This was... not what he was expecting. In any shape or form. He cleared his throat again. "Well, I am not an expert. But I don't think so. Many people have not kissed someone by twenty-three."

"Did you?" Jester asked mournfully.

Caleb looked down, twisted his fingers together, and winced. "...Yes."

A groan.

"But," he added quickly, "I'm thirty-three, and I have not kissed anyone in many years."

Silence.

And then he buried his face in his hands as soon as the words that had left his mouth registered to his forebrain. His ears were already beginning to burn hot with embarrassment; the rest of his face would not be far behind.

"Oh, Caleb."

"Don't," he mumbled into his palms. He shifted them out of the way so he could enunciate clearer while still hiding from Jester's oft-piercing gaze. "I didn't mean to... say it like that. I only meant that many people have been in circumstances that did not, erm. Lead them to anyone special. You are certainly not alone."

But it did surprise him. It was not as if Jester's charm was well-hidden. If anyone could truly be described as the life of any party they joined, it would be Jester Lavorre. Her delightful presence elevated everyone's happiness.

And, well. She was beautiful. It betrayed nothing of Caleb to admit so—it was just fact.

By now, he had seen many young individuals look at her with a multitude of different desires in their admiring gazes. Nine Hells, he had _met_ some of her dates before. All had been charming enough in their own rights as well. And it had not escaped Caleb (very far from it, in fact) that such interest could even be found in their own friend group.

Apparently, Jester recognized exactly Caleb's line of thought.

"It's not like I haven't dated a lot of people." She gave an uncomfortable chuckle. "I mean, I think everyone has just assumed at this point? Like you? That I have a lot of experience? And... I guess the jokes don't help, huh."

Caleb coughed. "Not so much."

"Yeah."

He took off his glasses so he could shove them into a pocket and rub at his eyes.

Why was this happening to him? How was he even here? He didn't deny the significance of the types of things Jester chose to confide in him about, but it always felt—out of the blue. Undeserved. He still had hardly told her anything about _himself_.

He forced himself to speak anyway. She deserved it. "Still, it is not as if a past boyfriend or a girlfriend or what have you would have ever been entitled to your physical affection. Maybe you have not kissed anyone before. That does not say anything about your merit as a person."

"Well, yeah, I know that." There was a sigh and the rustling of her skirt against cardboard again. Caleb could make out Jester bringing up a knee to wrap her arms around. "I don't know."

He swallowed down the ache in his throat at Jester's forlorn voice. _Fix it,_ it shouted at him.

"I think it just feels weird," she continued quietly before he could think of another reassurance to give. "And sad. Not because I'm not _normal_ or something. You guys know—I like myself just the way I am." It eased Caleb's heart a little to hear the smile in those words. "But I think it feels like I've missed out. I haven't kissed anyone before because, you know, I was pretty sheltered for a long time. Mama didn't think it was safe to go out for long. And then when I had to leave home, I was always busy. And there was always something worrying. Like Lord Sharpe, and my father. And then Mama got sick..."

She trailed off and fell silent. There was a damp sniff in the dark.

Chest tight, Caleb squashed down his anxiety to reach out and put a hand on Jester's forearm. She made a grateful noise and raised her other hand to wipe at her face briefly.

"It sounds like you've just had a lot of things happening in your life," he said softly.

"Yeah. Too many things, it feels like sometimes." She gave a wet little laugh, then cleared her throat. "So I've dated a lot, but doing anything more serious than hanging out, even just kissing... I don't know, it's never happened."

"And you feel like you've lost your chance at... something normal?"

"Well, that's the thing. I never really cared about being normal before. I still don't. It's just how other people talk about it, you know? What they all expect you to feel. What they all think about it."

Expectations. Caleb's heart sunk with sympathy.

It wasn't as if he had ever felt the same way. But he understood what she was saying regardless. How much Jester cared for others' thoughts and opinions. How difficult it must be to maintain and value her own sense of self while still _caring_ that much. She awed him with how well she seemed to handle that dichotomy sometimes.

"So." Jester laughed uneasily. "Being in here is a little weird."

Ah. Yes. This closet.

Caleb's hand on her forearm burned. He pulled it away and tucked it behind his back again, feeling nauseated now. Of course Jester would be even more uncomfortable in here than he was. Not only did she not ask for it, she did not ask for the implications of it with _him_. "I'm sorry. We don't have to stay in here. It's a silly game."

"No, that's not—" She cut off.

He twitched. Why did she sound strange?

"Maybe it is silly," she said finally. "But that's not what I meant. I meant—" she gave another odd laugh, "—um. That I guess I wouldn't really mind if this was actually my first kiss."

Caleb... froze.

Those last words of hers had come out rushed. Surely he had to process them again. Surely he misheard.

He blinked. The silver of Jester's jewelry glittered in the dim light.

"What?" he asked.

The heels of Jester's boots thumped on the boxes again as she dropped her legs back down. Her dark silhouette rubbed a hand anxiously along her other arm. "I wouldn't mind if this was my first kiss. To be honest, I kind of want to do it."

Caleb tried to keep his breathing even. He was overwhelmingly aware that Jester would be able to hear it in this cramped closet if his inhales began to stutter or if he began to panic aloud. Fortunately, that effort worked. But when he finally gathered himself, his voice came out strangled. "Me? Right now? Not someone else?"

"Someone else?"

"Erm, you know—" He stammered. "Fjord? Beauregard?"

"Well." There was a pluck of a nail against the lip of a cardboard flap. "I mean, Fjord likes someone else more, anyway. So."

"Does he?"

"You haven't noticed?"

Caleb shook his head, bewildered. All he'd noticed was the looks he gave Jester on occasion and the teasing she gave him back. Not to mention that Fjord had been the friend who knew CPR from a lifeguard job.

"To be fair, I don't think he's noticed, either." Jester said this observation with a little snicker to interrupt the solemn tone. "He's a bit oblivious, you know. And Beau's great, but I don't know. It would be complicated with her."

"But not with _me_?"

Even in the poor light, Caleb could see that Jester was giving him a rather pointed look. As if she couldn't possibly grasp why her words were so _bizarre_. He shook his head again, uncomprehending and beginning to feel like a bobblehead toy. Indeed, his head almost bounced loosely on his shoulders with how flummoxed he was.

Beau more complicated than him was laughable. He was a _mess_.

And there was nothing anywhere in the Astral Sea that could possibly make him tarnish something Jester clearly still considered important like a first kiss... with himself.

There was a sigh, indecipherable in meaning. And then Jester hopped down from the stack of boxes.

Caleb would have shied back if he was not already pressed against the closet wall. She shrunk the already scant distance between them as she stepped forward and took the hand that was not stuffed behind his back. Her own calloused clasp, as always, was a little cool from her water genasi blood. It never felt anything less than wonderful.

She looked up at him with a small smile that sent a twinge through his heart. "You're really sweet, you know, Caleb. And... it would be less complicated with you because I know you'd never even think twice about it afterwards. But maybe that's not a good thing, huh."

He swallowed. Said nothing.

Jester rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek before he could even blink. And then she spun around, skirt whirling, and opened the door to the closet.

Caleb squinted in the now bright light as shouts of disappointment at Jester's premature exit came from the main room. Jester was awfully unfazed, judging by her cheerful retorts to the rest of their party; meanwhile, he could do nothing else but stare for a moment at the cardboard boxes as he brushed fingertips to his cheek.

A treacherous echo of disappointment stung in his chest. He thumped the back of his skull against the wall and shut his eyes.


	12. diamonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He _was_ grateful. But he was not good enough for them.
> 
> That was the thing about wallowing in the mud. You felt no shame in your filth.

The Soltryce Academy hunted for the diamonds in the rough.

That was what he had told Beauregard and Nott that night in the Pillow Trove before war was declared—hardly a few months since, but what felt like so long ago now. He had been such a diamond; he, Astrid, and Eodwulf, arcane prodigies from the soil of Blumenthal, which was so fertile for nothing else of brilliance except fields of wheat to feed Rexxentrum.

So bright, so brilliant. _Then._

Now he was a failure.

Good that he was a failure. A familiar thought when he had paused upon an edge of a forest to smear more dirt across his face before leaving to steal his dinner. As precious a resource as he might have been to the Academy, Ikithon had seen fit to grind him down to a tool—a diamond-edged scalpel, worked to fineness for torture and whatever his master deemed a rotten limb to amputate.

But despite Ikithon's delicate craftsmanship, Caleb had broken. His parents had been his cleavage plane.

For five years, he had been satisfied to be a failure. He was disgusting; he was garbage and rubble. A shattered diamond functioned just as well as a whole one if needed as the material component of extraordinary spellwork.

The Mighty Nein changed that.

He awoke with a gasp and then hacking of lungs. His torso itched furiously as flesh and blood knit itself together.

Jester knelt just above him, wide-stretched smile easing away the deep furrows of panic on her brow. Her palms rested on his chest, but there was no pressure of contact, and as Caleb got his hands under him and squinted, her figure wavered for a second before flickering into translucency.

A growl rumbled in the air. Caleb's gaze snapped into focus to see Beau above Jester's duplicate, staff caught in the salivating maw of a massive wolf before shoving it off and kicking it in the gut with a yell. Away from the both of them.

She glanced down and flashed teeth. "Morning, Caleb, get the fuck up!"

Jester's duplicate stood as he did and almost avoided ruining the illusion; but his arm slipped through her nonexistent side.

And then he flinched as bolts of sallow green energy smashed with arcane wails into a wolf he hadn't seen coming. It tumbled across the dirt with a pitiful squeal. A golden falchion sunk into its flank before Caleb could blink as Fjord materialized in a burst of cold, white mist and ripped the beast open from shoulder to hip.

The half-orc looked over and panted, "You alright there?"

Caleb's hand had drifted to the center of his torso. A fatal wound had been there less than a minute before. Warm blood still soaked and near-dripped from the fabric of his shirt. " _Ja_."

Fjord nodded, said, "Good man," and turned back around to toss off more eldritch blasts with his signature cry.

He turned his attention farther afield, struggling to parse the landscape through the daze of revival and death's door. As he scrabbled through his coat for one of the potions tucked away inside, a hand clapped his shoulder and sent warmth rippling through his limbs.

Was this gratefulness or guilt? Caleb's mind cleared as wounds healed and lifeblood surged.

Caduceus sidled over to his side. His hand didn't leave his shoulder as he did, and when Caleb finally looked at him, he could see the traces of righteous anger that lingered around the firbolg's concerned frown. "No more losing people today. These enemies are too fast. Can you slow things down?"

His hand was already buried in his component pouch. At those words, he nodded and dug out his jar of molasses.

Guilt, he thought as he sunk two fingers into the jar and swiped the viscous substance across the back of his hand. Wolves and shrieking giant eagles shuddered and slowed around them under the weight of his spell.

He _was_ grateful. But he was not good enough for them.

That was the thing about wallowing in the mud. You felt no shame in your filth.

With friends, though... a new family. He could no longer hate himself in peaceful solitude. Warm voices interrupted his self-directed disgust—and so he hated himself for hating himself. They illuminated the trash pit of his shattered life, asked with sorrowful eyes for him to be better—and so he struggled to climb out of the depths and piece the diamond of his potential back together.

It was harder, he was learning, harder than attempting to reverse time; _so much harder_ to be good enough for people who loved you.

Nothing worth working towards would be easy.

"Jester, wait," he said.

She paused and turned back, brow rising in confusion, in time for Caleb to reach her and pat palmfuls of glittering white dust onto her cheeks and neck and shoulders. For the briefest second, the dust glimmered amber despite the strong light of the day, before shimmering across her skin into nothingness.

Jester reared back a little and patted her cheeks, too, as he stepped back. "What was that?"

"Something to help you in the fight," he said, concealing his component pouch beneath his coat again. "Since we all will be useless on the sidelines." Since he could make nothing useful of himself except for spellwork. "Try pinching yourself."

"Why would I do that?" But she pinched her forearm—or tried to, as her skin resisted the effort. "Oh!"

Caleb stared past the top of her head. He did not dare to meet her eyes. He already knew they would soon be smiling, and it was all too much today. "All their regular weapons will find it hard to hurt you much now. It should last for about an hour."

He didn't even have to look to feel the radiance of her understanding.

And then her arms flung themselves around his neck—his head and heart careened with stuporous shock. There was only a split-second squeeze before the embrace lifted; Caleb blinked rapidly as Jester pulled back and beamed at him.

"Thanks, Caleb!" she said. And then ran over to the fight.

He watched her go and massaged his forearms with the most difficult intent to avoid scratching at the scars instead. Scant leftover granules of the powdered diamond scraped along the creases of his palm.

Love made being a failure torturous. But Caleb already knew to the bitterest end that love tossed on the pyre never led to success.


	13. marion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jester covers a thoroughly engrossed Caleb in little paper cats, and then the topic goes downhill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: that noise liam o’brien made in c2e77 after essek showed him two new dunamancy spells
> 
> (still busy and stressed, but have a fic to tide us all over!)

For once, a visit by Jester and her friends was unrushed.

Marion turned the page of her book to a new chapter and took the opportunity for a reprieve, holding her place as she looked up. Sunlight cut from the circle top windows through the lounge, darkened with late afternoon and lower on the walls than when she began reading a few hours ago.

On the floor a few meters away sat Caleb, book holsters empty at his sides. His coat was draped over a couch, and the wizard hunched over the makeshift work surface in a flurry of handwriting. His other book propped open a scroll against the couch cushions. Strewn around him were piles of parchment, gleaming inkwells both full and empty, and another two bundled-up scrolls.

The man's cat, Frumpkin, also lay among the organized chaos. It currently held a pen between its two front paws and gnawed intently on the end.

Despite Caleb's nigh-feverish intensity, Marion found great relief in the knowledge that he was working here, in the lounge, with no intention to teleport away with her daughter and the rest of their friends the very next day. The plan was for them to take a week's respite here. In Marion's opinion, they had all earned such a respite many times over.

Door hinges creaked softly under the scratch of Caleb's pen. She looked at the entrance to see Jester come inside.

Jester gave her a smile as bright as the one she felt spreading on her own face. Her daughter had pushed open the door with her shoulder because occupying her arms were stacks of parchment and paper. Another inkwell and a pair of hand shears topped them.

As she pushed the door closed again with her tail, Frumpkin _mrowed_ and left the pen in order to stretch, massaging its claws into the fine rug on the floor. Marion only winced a little bit; she would probably receive a gifted rug again sooner rather than later. Then the cat padded up to Jester's feet and began to weave through her ankles as she approached.

She gave Marion a quick kiss on the cheek. "Hi, Mama. Has he been here all day?"

"To my knowledge."

Frumpkin meowed again, insistent. Jester cooed, "Yes, hello," and bent down to let the cat butt its head against her arms.

Marion reached down to give the cat a scratch behind its ears as well. "He needs _more_ parchment?"

"Wizard stuff uses a lot of it. Back when we were first traveling together and made a lot less money, he was always broke from buying enough to learn more spells." Jester leaned in and said quieter, "In fact, this time he spent all his money again before getting everything he needed, but he didn't say anything. So I bought these."

"That's very kind of you, Jester."

Her smile was modest. "Caleb does all this to help us, so it's important. Besides, I have some work, too." She gestured with her chin at the stack of paper and pair of hand shears.

With that, Jester arranged her own court on part of the floor near Caleb. Down went the stack of paper, then the haversack on her shoulders. Frumpkin settled atop one of the pale sheets that had fluttered off the top to watch, paws and tail tucked in neatly, as she pulled out her own inks and paints and scattered them about. Within but a minute, her space was more of a mess than Caleb's after hours of intense transcribing.

She also placed the new stack of parchment beside the piles the wizard had already formed, tapped him on the shoulder to point it out, and beamed as he first expressed astonishment and then gratitude for her generosity.

Marion, pleased, returned to her book.

Another hour or so passed along with three more chapters of fictional intrigue. The sounds of paper being cut and folded joined the scrapes of pen on parchment, all buoyed beneath by Jester's soft singing of melodies both familiar and new to Marion.

At another familiar sound, she held her spot and looked.

Jester was tapping at her chin with the spare pen Frumpkin had been chewing on not long ago. There was another hum of boredom. Before her rested a stack of what looked to be flyers, as well as piles of folded pamphlets and raw scraps of paper waste.

Her gaze settled on the cat, now asleep on the same sheet of paper.

Ah, Marion knew what was about to happen. Her daughter's mind was sparking with mischief right before her eyes.

The first thing Jester picked up was a bottle of green ink. Fingers gentle and delicate as a leaf, she set the bottle right on Frumpkin's flank where the muscle of its shoulder provided a sturdy surface. When the bottle did not shift with the cat's breath, she reached for her blue ink and placed it right next to the green ink.

Feline eyes blinked open as the cat made a soft noise of confusion.

Jester put a finger up to her lips and said, "Shh."

Frumpkin's tail twitched. But it only watched with curiosity as she continued the experiment with the rest of her colored inks, then her paints, and finally her utensils. Eventually there were art supplies piled all over the cat's side, in some places balanced precariously.

When the cat didn't disturb them, Jester stroked it on the head with a delighted grin. "Thank you, Frumpkin."

Marion watched her daughter—amused, proud, and fond in equal measures—as she plucked another sheet of paper and one of her charcoal pencils to begin drafting a sketch of the peculiar arrangement she had created. As if sensing her attention, Jester met her gaze and beamed as she pointed at Frumpkin enthusiastically.

 _I see,_ she mouthed.

Jester snickered and returned to her sketching. Marion looked over to Caleb and saw that he had taken no notice, apparently too engrossed in his work. So she smiled and returned to her book.

The next hour fully engrossed Marion as the plot of her book began to ramp up. As such, it took polite knocks on wood to draw her attention.

The door to the lounge eased open to reveal Brogan, one of the footmen of the Chateau. He dipped his head and said, "I was sent to inform you that dinner shall be arranged for you and your guests within the hour if it suits you, Ms. Ruby."

"Of course."

Brogan nodded again and closed the door.

"Man, he's still that stiff?" came Jester's nonplussed voice.

"It's his job, dear," Marion said as she slipped a ribbon into her book. Then she turned towards her daughter and paused. "Oh. Jester?"

Jester made a questioning noise but didn't look up. Her narrowed gaze was fixed on the small piece of paper in her hands, the hand shears in her lap resting on a sheet of paper with a square cut out. The tip of her tongue protruded from her pursed lips as she folded corners of the paper in intricate ways to form what was beginning to look like a four-legged animal with a tail.

Frumpkin still lay on the sheet of paper as an improvised table for Jester's art supplies, watching her curiously with the occasional swivel of an ear.

And Caleb... Caleb was covered in small paper crafts.

They were all perfectly perched. Not a single muscle of his moved an inch except those he was using to transcribe like he'd been doing for the whole day, ostensibly still so immersed in his work as to have taken no note of the paper zoo Jester had formed on his hunched back and shoulders. Some of them were stacked on top of each other in towers up to four little paper creatures tall.

Truly, it was stunning work. "How many have you made, Jester?"

Her daughter contemplated the question as she balanced the new paper creation on the smallest bare spot of Caleb's shoulder. "Um, like forty? I don't know but it's a lot."

"It's very impressive, but he will have to get up sometime. Dinner will be served soon."

"He's probably going to skip dinner anyway, he's still got one scroll he hasn't started on." But Jester pursed her lips, then began poking Caleb in the cheek. "Hey, Caleb. Hey, Caleb. Hey. Don't move, though. Caleb. Hey."

Marion held her hand up to stifle a laugh as the man stopped writing after the fifth poke. "What?" he said.

"Don't move. There's a lot of little paper cats on you right now."

She could almost feel the waves of confusion emanating from Caleb as he said, "What?" again. He turned his head and toppled a precariously balanced tower on his shoulder, along with a few individual crafts on his back as his ponytail shifted.

"No, Caleb!" Jester cried.

What Marion could see of Caleb's expression amused her greatly, as Jester dove behind him for the fallen handicrafts. There was a squint-eyed stare in the bafflement, trying to discern what covered his back without moving further. "What did you do?"

"I made a bunch of paper cats for you," she said and held up one from the floor so his squinted gaze could move to it instead. Indeed, Marion now recognized the combination of tail and pointy ears on the crafts to suggest a cat. "And you were super still so I just... put them on top of you. It looks real funny, Caleb, let me tell you. I made a lot of them."

"Well, it is a shame I cannot see them, then."

Something in Caleb's response—the choice of words, his amiable tone of voice—struck Marion. For a moment, she could only watch as she had been doing with more scrutiny as Jester sat back on her heels and said, "Yes, it is. I made stacks of them on your back. You should really find more comfortable places to work, you know, just looking at you is making my back hurt."

"I am used to it," he replied, still motionless. "But maybe a proper desk would be more appropriate for next time."

"Later this evening, I suggest," Marion remarked, and couldn't not notice how Caleb startled at her voice and knocked loose another few of the paper cats. He had forgotten she was there, or perhaps never noticed that she hadn't left. "Dinner will be prepared within an hour."

"Hm," Caleb said after a moment, clearly thinking about skipping dinner as Jester had predicted.

Jester had now begun plucking the paper cats from his back and shoulders and dropping them into a pile on the floor. But at his reluctance, she paused to prod his upper arm with a frown. "You should eat. You're as skinny as Caduceus, and we're going to be here for a few more days. You have time."

"I guess I do," he murmured.

"You know what you should do, Jester?" Marion said. "Go down to the kitchens and make sure they prepare a good selection of pastries for dessert. Your first full day home should be celebrated."

Jester's eyes lit up like fireworks. She pressed her hands together in front of her face and hopped to her feet in excitement. "Good idea, Mama!"

Still seated on the floor was a smiling Caleb, looking up at Jester as he carefully removed the last of the paper cats. He settled them upright and individually, beside the pile Jester had already formed. Marion smiled, too, and put her book down on the coffee table as her daughter whirled out of the lounge.

"Frumpkin?"

"Ah, yes," she said and turned to see Caleb frowning at his cat, still covered in Jester's things. "Jester got bored after some time and your cat was cooperative."

He shook his head and gave Frumpkin a scratch by its chin.

Marion settled her gaze on the man. Caleb Widogast did not strike her as the type of individual to develop an interest in someone like her daughter, not on the surface. He seemed studious, and serious, and by all rights she would have pegged him at the start as someone to find Jester's playful positivity irritating—if Jester did not make it her mission to make herself irritating to him first.

But Caleb was a human being, one who appreciated and missed the lighter things of life. Marion could see it in the ease at which he smiled when Jester smiled first, in the distant longing of his gaze when she turned away. He hungered for more than knowledge. He was not musty books and severity, ink for blood or a sharpened quill. In that sense, his claim that the arcane was but a hobby might be among the more honest words he'd ever said.

She stood as he began removing brushes and bottles from Frumpkin and joined him on her knees. He tried to object, of course, but it was simple to wave it away until everything was properly set aside.

Freed from its burden, the cat stretched across the floor before standing and rubbing its head along Marion's side.

She smiled but kept an eye on Caleb as she pet the softly purring Frumpkin and he sorted Jester's art supplies by use and color. "I have a question for you, Mr. Widogast."

He raised his eyebrows, receptive.

"Are you in love with her?"

Marion patiently pet his cat as Caleb's mouth opened, closed, then opened again. Panic paled his face and made his breath come faster for a minute, and eventually Frumpkin noticed this. It gave a concerned meow and slipped over to its owner's side, who sunk a hand into its fur.

"Am I so transparent," he finally said with a tired voice.

"Not as such, but this is my specialty, you know."

Caleb shook his head. "Another friend asked me a similar question, and this is far from her specialty. It must be obvious somehow."

"Is that a problem?"

Marion already knew that he thought so; the immediate panic had answered her already. She was curious about why.

He didn't disappoint. "Yes. This is not"—he laughed, and the bitterness of it stung her heart with a familiar burn—"not anything I wish reciprocation for. And I really don't want any pity for it. The less anyone knows about it, the better."

"A broken heart?" she asked softly.

A long sigh as he contemplated. Then: " _Ja._ Perhaps so."

"I know a little about those."

Caleb didn't object. He nodded, lips pressed together, and began to place Jester's art supplies back into her haversack.

Marion could understand far too well. The ghost of her own haunted her, whispered reminders in her ear about _the Gentleman_ and _Zadash_ , and the old sorrow was a burden she was long-weary of receiving in kind.

Her interest was drawn to this for other reasons than Caleb, though. "What will you do if she gains the same affection for you?"

He snorted. "I doubt it."

"But it is a possibility to consider."

"She is intelligent and romantic enough to find someone better," he said. "Our own party is not lacking in that, as you probably have seen, too. And if she doesn't..." He rubbed his face with his free hand. "Well, the temporary sting will not be a grave wound."

"And if she persists?"

Caleb's face was pained. "Pardon my words, Ms. Lavorre, but you know little of these circumstances. I find it incredibly unlikely, and I don't believe I am wrong. She cannot, you understand," and his voice became much quieter at these words. "Her greatest desire is to make people happy. Ease their hearts. You know this."

Yes. Marion knew.

"She would burn herself out on me if I gave her the chance, I am convinced of it." Frumpkin nudged his hand, the only thing Marion could see of his tension as he ducked his head low. "Sometimes I'm afraid she's already trying to. Burn herself out on others' problems, that is."

Marion's worry spiked, but she took a breath and tried to calm. "You are watching out for her on that part, yes?"

"I try to."

"Then you are a good friend to my Sapphire." Marion reached over to place a hand on Caleb's shoulder. "Keep doing that, please."

**Author's Note:**

> reminder that chapter 1 is a table of contents featuring more descriptive tags and summaries of each oneshot in this collection!
> 
> find me at [@primrose-path-of-dalliance](https://primrose-path-of-dalliance.tumblr.com) on tumblr, where i post fandom things and the occasional bit of writing.


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